


Shadowstepper

by OperaGoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad end, Dimension Travel, M/M, Multiverse, no beta we die like men, repeated character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-14 15:54:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OperaGoose/pseuds/OperaGoose
Summary: Ardyn wins. He didn't expect it to be this boring. He is granted the opportunity to travel to a different world, to take his vengeance.Again and again and again.(NaNoWriMo 2018. AKA, the Multiverse Ardyn that's been undercurrent in some of my previous fics is now canon. And the excuse I need to lazily write all of the AUs ever.)





	1. Intro

Ardyn looked down at the crumbling form of the King of Light, a sneer covering his expression. “I thought you would be more of a challenge,” he said, disappointed. 

The boy, turning to dust as the power of kings burned through him, said nothing. Ardyn kicked him with the toe of his boot and watched the rest of his body disintegrate into ash. “Hm.” Already dead. “How disappointing.” 

He turned his head up to the sky. Black, shrouded in scourge. A familiar demon, three-headed dog of gigantic proportions, curled up next to him. With a lazy smile, he petted the nearest head. “We won.” 

It took mere months for the existential dread to set in. Every being worth holding a conversation with succumbed to despair or scourge, and all of Eos was a desolate wasteland. 

It was boring. For the first time in years, he felt fear. The horror of eternity stretching ahead of him, with purposelessness and meaninglessness. All his years on this hell, he’d had his purpose. To take his vengeance on the bloodline of his traitorous brother, and against the gods who had ruined his life. 

But that was over. He’d succeeded. 

So now what? 

He wandered for years, until he finally came back to Insomnia. Ifrit, scourged and burned, sat on his throne. “What do you want?” 

“Vengeance.” 

“You had your vengeance.” 

“It wasn’t enough. I need more. I need to do it again. I need my revenge.” 

The ground rumbled, the shards of the Crystal burrowing into the ground. A swirling vortex of light and darkness opened in the circle made. “I cannot send you back,” the Infernian replied. “But step through unto a different timeline. Cast your die again, and again, and again, until our thirst for vengeance is quenched.” 

Ardyn grinned, and stepped into the shadows. Let his vengeance continue, neverending. 


	2. World of Ruin

Prompto shuddered as lightning tore across the sky. There was so little sunlight these days, and even less day by day. But what he didn’t need right now was one of the acid storms. 

He pulled the leather vest off and held it over his head to protect himself as the skies opened. He raced towards the nearby tree cover, desperate to reach them for protection. He leaned against the trunk, shuddering as the burning rain slipped through a sleeve and slid down his wrists. 

The rain eased slightly and he could make out something strange in the near distance through the trees. It was a house. Or, like a shack probably. He held up the vest and ran towards it. It was too dark, with only flashes of sickly green lightning, to make out the quality of the shack. But there was a decent porch, half of it had collapsed down one end, but there was a large storage crate under the protected side. 

He tucked himself up inside it, managing to fall asleep for the first time in days. Deeper than he’d slept in weeks. 

It turned out to be a mistake. He was violently yanked awake and out of the crate, sometime in the ‘light’ part of the day that was probably morning. He was dragged by a huge strong force, over the porch, under the collapsed porch roof and through a front door he hadn’t seen the night before. It was a guy, an actual human guy - but like a foot and a half taller than Prompto. And like three times as wide because DAMN his muscles. 

He was shoved into a chair and someone else was behind him, using - was that a belt? - to bind his hands behind his back, keep him still. A small pin light was shining in his eyes and he squinted against it. “Bruh. Seriously? You’re not supposed to shine flashlights in people’s eyes.” 

The light moved away and he could get a better look of what was going on. Muscles was pressed against the door, arms crossed over his chest intimidatingly. The guy with the light was tall and thin, hair expertly styled with a pair of sporty glasses on his face. He loomed over Prompto, just as intimidating as Muscles. 

“How did you find this place?” He demanded. His voice was cultured, accented. Almost Tennebraen. 

“Uh. I didn’t? I don’t even know this place is a place. I was just hiding out from the acid storm, bro. Dudes.” 

Muscles grunted in annoyance and leaned forward. Prompto could see his face, scarred up down his eye and across his forehead. But he looked… really familiar somehow. 

It dawned on him. “Shit. You’re Amicitia. You’re the king’s Shield!” 

The tension between the two men thickened - the Shield dropped one arm, and a shield materialized in crystalline blue light. 

He got the urge to lift his arms in a placating gesture, but there was resistance and he remembered his hands were bound up behind the chair. He tried his best to show it in his face. “I saw you on the TV. At King Noctis’s coronation.” The child king. Crowned at ten years old when his father had disappeared into the Crystal of Light. 

The Shield had only been thirteen years old himself, but he could still see the serious expression on the chiselled, manly features. The other guy he didn’t recognise, but he had to be from the Crown City too. 

They relaxed at the news, the shield disappeared in the same way it had appeared. “What were you doing outside?” Glasses asked calmly. 

“It was an acid storm last night,” he replied. “I was just looking for shelter. I thought the shack was abandoned.” 

“The weather warnings were on every radio channel,” Glasses pointed out, pushing the item up his nose. “Which outpost are you with? If their radio broadcasting systems aren’t up to parr-” 

“I’m not,” he added reluctantly. “With an outpost. I… uh. I was in Leide for a little while but they. Chased me out.” He shook his hair out of the way, flashed the star-shaped scar on his temple. “Threw rocks. Called me a dirty Niff. You know.” He tilted his head back so his fringe covered it back up. “Look. I don’t want trouble. What are your terms? Five hundred feet? A thousand?” 

“From the cottage?” Glasses clarified. 

“Or your territory. Whatever you like.” He shrugged. 

“How many agreements with similar terms have you made?” There was something in the cultured accent Prompto couldn’t tell. 

“Dunno. A lot. I’ve been trying to find somewhere secluded enough.” He’d thought here, the Vesperpool, he might actually be safe. 

“So you came all the way.” It wasn’t phrased like a question. But he nodded anyway. “Why here?” 

He shrugged. “Edible plants, fishing spot, picturesque for photographs. No permanent settlement - at least I didn’t think so.” He gave an awkward smile. 

“And if we decided the entire Vesperpool was our territory?” Glasses asked, his voice cool and calm. 

He cringed, but let his shoulders droop. “Okay.” There was still the wetlands in Duscae. It sounded muggy and horrible and it was always raining. It would be acid storms every other day. Ever since the chocobo forest had been lost, the place had been…. mostly deserted. Except for the hunters, looking for shards of the meteor. As long as he stayed out of their way. 

“It’s too late to go now,” Muscles said, standing up straight. He walked around to the back of the chair and undid the belt holding him in place. “The Marlboros have moved in to get whatever was driven out by the acid storm. They’ll eat you like garnish.” 

He avoided their eyes. “Daemons leave me alone.” 

The two of them tensed. “What?” The Shield growled. 

He held his wrist out to Glasses, turning it over so the barcode on his wrist was exposed. “I’m an Magitek Trooper. Or… I was meant to be. We’re made of Starscourge. Not enough to corrupt… but enough the daemons recognise me as one of them.” He stood up. “It’s okay. I’m safe. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

The Shield stared at him. He summoned a huge sword, but didn’t seem to be purposeful about needing it. “You’re an MT?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I could have been. I was… liberated, I guess?” He shrugged. “I was taken away from the facility. Raised in Insomnia. I didn’t know until-” He gestured to the door, the waning light disappearing from the gap underneath. “Some of the Niffs told me. They ran me off just like the others.” But they’d done it with guns. 

Glasses pushed up his frames again. “You may occupy the other side of the Vesperpool. It’s unclaimed territory.” 

*** 

The Vesperpool was nice. He stayed in the outskirts of some old ruins. There was power in the grove, doorways that only opened up at night. There was something more than demons in there, he could tell. 

One night, after an acid storm, when he knew the marlboros were out and the men in the shack would be inside, he crept around to the fishing dock. There was an old abandoned fishing shop there he hoped was still stocked with a rod and some bait. He knew… absolutely nothing about fishing. But his jerky was all gone. And there wasn’t as many edible plants as he’d hoped there would be. 

The door wasn’t even locked. The light on his phone lit up the area well enough. He saw a couple different fishing rods on the wall, with some dangly things shaped like long fish. He stood there, rod in one hand, a dangly thing in the other, and felt overwhelmed. Totally and completely overwhelmed. 

There was a quiet laugh from behind him. “Never fished before, huh?” 

He turned to look. “That obvious?” 

There was a guy standing there. Around his age. But he was gorgeous. He had long dark hair stuffed under a ratty old had, a slim body hidden by puffy grey jacket. His eyes were so… pretty in the light, a gorgeous pale blue. 

I am too gay for this, he thought, his breath hitching. The guy was completely gorgeous, but there was something familiar about his features. But Prompto couldn’t place what. 

He held out his hand, cupped in a supple leather glove with the smallest two fingers missing. “Here. Let me show you how to set it up.” 

The two of them spent the night together on that dock. He showed Prompto how to fish and, when he showed no skill at it, caught him a couple to eat. He was shy, socially awkward, but almost desperate for conversation. For companionship. He knew the guys in the shack - called them Gladio and Specs. They’d all come from Insomnia, he got the sense they’d came from the city together, to this place. 

“Will I see you again soon?” He asked, almost desperate. 

Prompto shrugged, meeting his eyes. I want to, he tried to say with his eyes. “I’m not… technically allowed over here. The guys…” He gestured to the shack in the distance, shuttered and dark. “They gave me the other side of the Vesperpool.” The implied ‘so I can’t come over here’ was left unspoken. 

“Why?” He asked, desperate. 

Prompto clenched his fist, almost feeling the tattoo burned into his skin. Branded for life. “Ask them.” 

*** 

Prompto was poking listlessly at a small campfire the next evening. He turned his head when he heard the rustling in the bushes. He was somehow not surprised to see the guy approaching, his path illuminated by a flashlight on his chest. He was dressed differently today. All in blacks - the colour of the Lucian Kings and their servants could wear. 

He came over and sat next to Prompto. “An MT, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

On the cobbled stone ground between them, he laid his hand on top of Prompto’s. Bare - sparks tingling up the blond’s arm. “What does it matter where you were born, anyway?” He asked. “Specs says it’s not what you were born into, but the person you become.” 

Prompto gave him a long, intense look. “You don’t care what I was made to become?” He asked, disbelieving. 

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering. “As long as you’re the same.” 

*** 

When the truth came out, Prompto felt stupid. 

Noct Gar. How had he bought it? 

In his defense, the radio had declared King Noctis was killed in the Fall of Insomnia. Lord Regent Ardyn Izunia had given a heartwarming eulogy on-air. He’d figured out Noct had been part of the fancy citadel like Specs and Gladio. They all used the same crystal blue magic to summon weapons (and fishing gear). 

But it did all come out. 

  


They were lying together in a tangle of blankets, naked and sated. Noct had finally found something to use as lube, and they’d fucked for the first time. It had been a long time coming, and Prompto was quietly murmuring to him that he’d never thought he could feel so close to someone in his life. 

Noct wasn’t the best at using his words, but the way his thumb stroked over the bones of Prompto’s shoulder blade said as much as he could read. It said ‘I love you too’. 

There was a quiet clearing of someone’s throat behind him. He lifted his head and turned to look, seeing Specs standing just inside the circle of light thrown by the firelight. “Majesty.” 

Noct groaned. “Iggy,” he groaned. “Really?” 

“I am loath to interrupt. But we received word from Weskham. Your father’s been spotted, he’s heading to Insomnia. We should join him there immediately.” 

“Pack the car. I’ll be out in a bit. Just… just give me a few minutes okay?” 

There was an awkward silence in wake of Specs (Iggy? Was that what Noct had called him?) walking away. 

“Majesty,” Prompto murmured. “Can’t you only call the king of a country that?” 

“Wow,” he said gently. “You.... You really didn’t know? I thought you just didn’t care about who I was.” He looked at him with a soft, intense look. 

“Noct. As in. King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV. The Child King.” 

“I’m not a child anymore,” he pointed out. “But. Yeah.” 

“And… your dad being spotted?” 

“King Regis. Right.” 

“The King of Light.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Who got sucked into the Crystal in order to banish the Scourge from our Star.” 

“Yes.” 

“Whose return will herald the end of never-ending darkness?” 

“Yeah.” 

He leaned over to kiss him softly. “You’ll come back for me? Once everything’s over.” 

Noct smiled softly. “I promise.” 

  


*** 

The night was dark. The air so thick with scourge not even the light of the full moon could peek through. He sat by the water, tossing splintered and burned fishbones into the Vesperpool. He missed Noct. Noct Gar, Noctis. King Noctis. 

Geez. He’d only gone and fallen in love with the king of their country. Was that treason? It was probably treason. 

“Prompto.” He turned his head to look at the voice. It was Noctis. He was half-dressed in a fancy suit. The jacket and tie were missing, but he still looked gorgeous. 

“Hey!” he said, perking up. “Is it over already?” 

Noct crouched down and sealed their lips together in an intense kiss. He never said anything. They made love by the light of the flashlight in their discarded clothes. He fell asleep to Noct kissing across his shoulders, hands mapping the pattern of freckles down his arm. 

When he woke up, it was to the sun in his eyes. He made a confused noise, turning over and burying his face in Noct’s chest. Then he realised what it was and sat up, shocked. “The sun rose!” 

Noct muttered grumpily at being woken up and pulled the blanket up to cover his face. “It’s dawn. I’m going back to sleep.” 

Prompto reluctantly extracted himself from his lover’s - the king’s grip and headed back to the ruins to his set-up. He came to a stop when he saw Specs and Gladio in his rough shack - a set of expensive, branded camping gear set up. Specs was at the fancy stove, cooking up breakfast. “Uh…” 

“Mr Argentum,” Specs greeted with a nod in greeting. “Gladio, go wake up his majesty. We must have a long conversation after breakfast.” 


	3. His Dark Materials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a break from our regularly scheduled Prince Prompto AU to bring you a very very brief daemon AU.

When Prompto was thirteen, he went to a pet store on the other side of town and bought a little brown and white rat. He’s spent years keeping a sock in his pocket, occasionally whispering to himself behind a book or binder, to hide away from suspicious eyes. 

His parents - well, Mr and Mrs Argentum - has told his elementary principal. But they’re not around enough come middle school to tell anyone then. He fills in all his paperwork with ‘brown rat, F, Stella’, and nobody ever questions it.

She’s affectionate enough, and her occasionally appearances to snuffle his cheeks dispels any suspicions from his fellow students. 

Prince Noctis’s daemon settles in their final year of middle school. It’s some sort of creature he had to google to figure out - a carbuncle. He knows the exact day he stopped seeing the prince’s daemon as anything else - when they turned into a cat and sat on the prince’s head while they both napped through history. 

Stella the First dies in the holidays between middle and high school. She hadn’t been his real daemon - the physical manifestation of his soul - but she had been his only friend. He makes himself buy another rat the day before school begins. 

After classes, he whispers to Stella Junior “wish me luck” and then jogs to catch up with the prince and slaps him across the back. 

The Carbuncle - Aulea he learns soon - stares at him affectionately and says: “hello, Prompto.” And that’s the first time he learns that daemons can speak. 

  


Gladio’s daemon is a grey wolf named Contubernius. His father’s was a wolf, and grandfathers, and so on and so forth to the first Shield ever. His sister Iris sometimes has a smaller wolf, still a pup, but when Noct is about she tends to have a cat instead. 

Prompto calls Contubernius “Connie” once and he growls at him with a lip curled up. 

But Prompto catches Gladio calling him ‘Connie’ later, and the name kind of sticks. 

  


Stella the Third only lasts two days after his eighteenth birthday. She crawls out onto the grass while he hangs out with the guys at the Citadel gardens - and Artemis swoops down and eats her. Prompto is too horrified to even move. Ignis starts shouting at his daemon, and the two of them bicker until Gladio and Connie have to separate them. 

The next day, Noct brings him a rat in a cage with sad eyes. 

Stellus lasts until a few days before they leave for Noct’s wedding. 

  


Ignis asks once. “Would you tell me… why you don’t have…?” But he takes no for an answer and leaves it alone. 

Noct only ever says something about it once. He reaches over and tugs at the hood of Prompto’s new Chocobo onesie. “I bet if you still had a daemon, it would be a chocobo.” 

The others laugh and agree. 

  


Prompto remembers his horror when he first learns that Pryna and Umbra are Lady Lunafreya’s twin daemons. Pryna is bringing the notebook to Noct, and he grins “hey Tiny!” he greets and reaches out to scratch her ears. 

The absolute tension that thickens the room stops his hand before it touches the soft white fur. 

“...Prompto,” Noct explains carefully. “Pryna and Umbra are Luna’s daemons.”

He retracts his hands with horror, tries not to remember patching up and cuddling and bathing the pup when she was small. 

The apology letter he stuffs in the notebook before Noct sends it off is full of apologies. Pleading his ignorance and begging her forgiveness if she felt violated. 

Her reply comes alone with Pryna. Lady Lunafreya tells him that neither she or Pryna mind at all if he’s affectionate with her during her visits. They’re all very fond of him. 

Prompto is careful but does give Pryna the fond ear scratch when he sees her, and tries not to think about how he sees Noct petting Umbra when he visits. 

  


The only other person he ever meets without a daemon is Ardyn Izunia. 

The man is cruel to him, when no one is around to hear - taunts him about being Empty. And Alone. 

  


When Noctis disappears into the Crystal, Aulea is left behind. She jumps onto Prompto and burrows into his arms. 

It doesn’t seem strange to him. 

And the two of them keep each other company while they wait for their Noctis to return. 


	4. Beaty and the Beast Variation 1/?

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, they lived a widower man and his only son. They were fishermen, in a small village. The boy’s mother had died when he was only a few days old, and the father had raised him alone. 

The boy was named Noctis Caelum, after the night sky. He adored his father, but was a lonely boy. There were no other children in their village. The boy loved to fish with his father, and play video games whenever they could afford to buy them. 

Then one fateful day, the father’s boat was caught in a storm. He was blown about by wild seas until he was crashed on the rocks on the far side of their kingdom. His knee painfully injured, he managed to make it towards the nearest dwelling: A huge castle named Zegnautus Keep. Were he not starved, and delirious with pain, he would have never wandered past its gate. For the legend of Zegnautus was known by all. 

He was nursed to health by a smiling man with golden eyes, his vitality restored with elixirs, and his knee repaired as much as it could be. He was given a golden knee brace and cane to walk with. When it was time for him to leave, he was given the horrifying cost of his stay: “when your son Noctis turns twenty years of age, you will send him to me and he shall reside with me here for all eternity. If you do not, I shall send fearsome demons to your village and slaughter every soul.” He had not even told the man his son’s name. Heart broken and weary, the fisherman returned home. 

When the boy was nineteen, his father died of a sickness in the lungs from damp. Upon his deathbed he confessed the terrible price laid on their heads. Noctis was horrified, but in the sadness of his father’s death, he found resignation. 

He journeyed from his village where he had lived all his life upon a black chocobo that was all that was left to his name. When he eventually reached the castle of legend, the gate was open for him. The same man was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, exactly as his father had described: hair red as blood, eyes gold as a cat’s, and a smile that deceived your senses. 

He was led to a high tower and shut up in a cell. The man laughed and ran sharp nails across the bars. “Make yourself at home, Noctis. You are going to stay in there for a very, very long time.”

***

According to the tally on the wall he’d been gouging in with the end of his spoon, it had been ten days. Ten days of nothing but the four walls of his cell, a single slit of a window too high to see out of, a jug of water that magically refilled itself, and a plate that occasionally produced plain bread and cheese. 

He’d named every fish he knew, and every plant, and spoke the names of his ancestors as far back as he knew them. And that had barely taken the first afternoon. He was going to die of boredom before forever came. 

And then, just when he was expecting his bread and cheese to arrive, he heard footsteps outside the door. They were shuffling and hesitant, not like the heeled strides he remembered following his captor. 

A face appeared between the bars, and spoke a very eloquent “huh.”

He glared at the person. “What?”

“Sorry. Iggy said bread and cheese kept going missing. Guess now we know why.”

“Who are you?”

“Hmm. _They_ call me Prompto. He calls me Empty. I don’t think either was my name originally.” He felt around in his pockets and produced something with a victorious “a-hah!”

That something happened to be a key, and the door swung open with a rusty shriek. 

“Well…?”

“Well what?”

“Are you coming out?”

“The Beast of Zegnautus said I had to stay in here. For all eternity.”

The person laughed. It was a nice sounding laugh, actually. Not cruel like the monster’s had been. “I don’t think He even remembers you’re here. Come on. There’s comfy bedrooms downstairs. Iggy made creme brûlée.”

Confused, he followed - what had he said, Prompto? - down the spiralling stairs of the tower. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember I’m here?”

“Hum? Oh. Yeah. You’ve heard the legends about this place, right? You called him the Beast of Zegnautus. They still tell the legends, right?”

“Sure,” he muttered. “A castle where none shall enter, lest you meet the handsome beast who has resided there since time immemorial.”

“Hum. They used to say ‘since the beginning of time’ when I was a kid.” The blond nodded to himself and held a door open for Noct. “Anyway. Yeah. He’s super old, and He’s been stuck here for - well, Iggy says ten thousand years. Who knows the truth of it really. What was I saying?”

Noct frowned. This guy was _weird_. “You were explaining why you thought he didn’t remember I was in the tower.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He paused, tucking a lock of hair out of his face. “Whatever the exact number He’s very very old, and He can never leave this Keep. Do you think a man like that is _sane_?”

“He’s not a man. He’s a Beast.”

Prompto waved one hand around dismissively. “Same _thing_. He doesn’t remember _I’m_ around most days. He hasn’t brought up Iggy in...ages, and I don’t think He’s ever even _mentioned_ Gladio, and he’s been here for a hundred years!”

Noctis came to a horrified stop, letting his words sink in. “A...hundred years?”

Prompto looked suddenly very very weary. “It’s this Keep. All who reside here are as undying as The Beast Himself.” The usual bright smile snatched back over his face. “Well, you’ll be young and pretty forever! Could be worse. You could be ugly!” Laughing to himself, the blond threw open the doors to… a kitchen. “Iggy! You were right! Found one. In the tower.”

Iggy was… another person. Taller than him and Prompto, he was dressed neatly and wearing an apron dusted with sugar and flour. He set down a little blow torch as Noct awkwardly entered the room. “Goodness. You’re thin. How long have you been here for?”

“...ten days?”

The man nodded - Iggy? - and bustled about the kitchen until he had a huge bowl of soup and a handful of soft white rolls in front of Noct. “Eat up then.”

Stunned, Noct sat down. Prompto had disappeared, back through the door he came in. “This all must seem a bit much for you. You’ll have to forgive Prompto’s...enthusiasm. It’s been a hundred years since we’ve had anyone new to talk to.”

Noct stared at his bowl. It was half-empty, when had that happened. “How long have you been here?”

Ignis hummed. “One hundred and fifty-seven years. Assuming my calculations are correct.” He continued finishing off the brûlées. “How did you get trapped here?”

“My father. The Beast nursed him to health and then demanded me in payment.” His voice was dark, still angry. 

“Hm.” Ignis looked over at him from beyond surprisingly modern spectacles. “My town was afflicted by the plague and sent me as a sacrifice to be protected from the illness. It worked.” He stood properly and set aside his blowtorch. “Gladiolus’s father plucked a single bloom, for his little sister Iris. The Beast demanded his child in payment. Gladiolus came instead of his sister.”

Noctis watched him, cleaning up the last of the soup with a broken roll. “And what about Prompto?”

The man’s eyes were sad behind his glasses, and he turned away. “I doubt anyone remembers.”

***

Once he’d eaten and washed his clothes in the scullery beside the kitchen - “ _indoor plumbing! It really is a genuine gift to the world. Though Gladiolus says the same about electricity_.” - Ignis (as he learned his real name was) somehow made Prompto appear to show him to one of the bedrooms. 

(“Really. It’s not a _mystery_ , Noctis. I simply texted him.”)

“These are where the guest rooms are,” Prompto explained, practically skipping as he led him down the hall. “I’ve put you across the hall from Gladio and Iggy. That way you won’t get lonely in this spooky old castle!” He threw open one of the doors, showing him a bedroom fit for a king. A huge, four-post bed draped in black and gold brocade, made up with silk sheets, with a huge High Def TV on the wall across from it. “The en-suite is through there. There should be clothes in your size in the walk-in, and fresh towels daily in the bathroom. If you want anything specific, just ask.”

“Ask you?” Noct asked, sinking wearily onto the edge of the bed. 

Prompto laughed. “No, silly! Ask the castle, duh. It’s enchanted. It has to provide you for all of your needs - well, except the need to leave, or contact the outside world. Which is a _real_ pain in the ass when you need tech support. Oh, do you want the WiFi password?”

“WiFi...password…?” He repeated in disbelief. “I thought this Keep was thousands of years old!”

“Longer, probably,” Prompto said with a shrug. “But, you know. It updates - it’s supposed to be timeless or something. All the new best sellers appear in the library each month for Gladio, Iggy gets new cookbooks and kitchen gadgets, and I get like… all the video games ever.” A shadow crossed his expression again, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. “Video games. Best invention since flushing toilets. I do _not_ miss emptying chamber pots.” He patted his shoulder. “It’s… a lot to take in. I know. You look absolutely wrecked, buddy. Get some sleep. I’ll show you around a bit tomorrow.”

“Noctis.”

A strange expression flickered over Prompto’s expression, like he’d heard the name before but couldn’t remember where. “Huh?”

“That’s me. My name. It’s Noctis.”

A little frown puckered between his brows. “Noctis…” he murmured. “Where have I heard that name before…?” He drummed his fingers against his thigh a few times, deeply lost in thought. Then he shook it off and gave him a bright smile. “Goodnight then, Noct. See you tomorrow.” And then he practically danced from the room. 

***  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t ask me where this came from. I was listening to the OLC Beauty and the Beast musical album and got to think about dubiously sane Prompto stuck with Ardyn waiting thousands of years for Noct to show up so he can 1. Break the spell and 2. kill Ardyn so he can move on to the next universe already.


	5. Beauty and the Beast Variation 2/?

Noct did not, in fact, see thy mysterious blond the next day as he had claimed. The fisherman had slept until afternoon, wandered to the kitchen to be fed Ignis’s latest delicious concoction, then ended up going back to his room. The TV was even set up with Netflix, and he saw a brand new profile called ‘Noct’ just for him. 

The next day, too, he didn’t see Prompto. Though he did meet Gladiolus, a huge behemoth of a man whose bare skin revealed an intricately inked tattoo. Noct had thought the man didn’t like him, but quickly caught on the gruff, sarcastic way of talking was just his normal self. 

And then, on the third day, he at last reappeared. He looked exactly the same, except for a change of clothes. “Hey Noct!” he greeted, with a sunny grin. “How’d you sleep?”

“Uh… fine?” The guy was acting as if he hadn’t disappeared for two days. 

“Cool! Cool.” He modded, the grin softening to a gentler smile. “So, I thought - maybe you want a tour of the Keep! I’m the best person to show you around. Iggy still gets lost around the West Wing sometimes.”

“Uh. Yeah. I guess.” Noct stood, still in his pyjamas. “Just let me get dressed.”

Prompto nodded with a smile and tucked his hands behind his back to wait. When he came back out of the bathroom, showered and dressed, it didn’t look like the guy had moved an _inch_. But as soon as he saw Noct, he was bouncing on his feet a little, excited. “Cool. Ready to go?”

There was a lot to the Keep. The kitchen and the library and the video game room were all nearby the guest rooms - but then Prompto showed him around the hallways and towers that spiralled out in a twisting labyrinth from the core. The West Wing turned out to be a strange walk through time - each room they passed designed in the style of lost eras. They came to the end of the wing where there was only a twisted set of stairs leading up to a tower. 

“And don’t ever go up there. That’s His tower. I mean, you can if you want, I guess? I just don’t know why you would.” Nodding to himself, Prompto began to lead him back through time to the more familiar part of the castle. As they reached the sort of foyer before their most used rooms, he paused before a closed set of doors. They hadn’t gone in there during the tour. “Hm. Maybe don’t go in there.”

“What’s in there?” Noct asked, because of course now he was curious about it. 

“The East Wing,” Prompto replied, and continued on to lead Noct back to the kitchen for breakfast. 

When there was nothing else forecoming, Noct pressed: “what’s in the East Wing?” 

“Huh?” Prompto asked, as if broken from his thoughts. “The East Wing? Hm. Maybe don’t go in there.” 

Well that was helpful. 

Noct greeted Ignis and took his bowl, but when he turned to ask more of Prompto, the blond had slipped out of the door back into the corridors. He shook his head slightly and started eating. 

“Prompto give you the tour of the house?” Ignis asked, mixing something in a bowl. 

“Yeah. Most of.” He looked at him. “Do you know what’s in the East Wing?”

The baker looked at him very seriously for a long moment. “I’ve never been inside,” he answered. “It’s the one place Prompto asked me not to go. I decided to respect that.”

“Seriously? One and a half centuries and you’ve never gone in the forbidden wing?” Noct asked in disbelief. 

“It’s not forbidden,” Ignis responded calmly. “It’s not even locked. Gladiolus went in and there were no consequences, but for Prompto’s hurt feelings.” 

“Huh.” He’d ask the guy about it later, maybe. 

“Prompto is your foremost expert on the interior of the Keep,” Ignis continued, as if he hadn’t asked the question. “But if you wish to see the gardens, I would ask Gladiolus to show you around. He’s rather more knowledgeable. At the very least, he can show you where your steed has settled in.”

***

The grounds were just as complex and timeline confusing as the Keep itself. To make matters even more confusing, they were divided by seasons. The North path led to wintertime, gardens covered in powdery snow. To the West, springtime with fresh budding flowers. In the South, a parched summertime with sweet summer fruits just to reach out and grab, fruit bursting on their tongues - and the stables where his chocobo looked happier than ever. And they ended in the East, autumnal leaves dancing across the footpaths around their ankles and crunching underfoot. 

Gladiolus was the right choice of guide. He could name every flower, almost all of the trees, and even some information about the kinds of gardens there were to explore. 

As they headed back, Noct couldn’t help but ask: “what’s in the East Wing?”

The man eyed him for a moment then huffed. “Art. Like just a bunch of paintings. Starts with the older stuff like that weird egg paint on wood, but I got as far as those - what’s it called, the dark stuff with intense colours? Oh. Baroque. Yeah. Got to Baroque before Prompto showed up. He offered to show me around, but… I kinda felt like I was trespassing. He didn’t talk to me for a year.”

“Oh.” That was it? Just some old paintings? What was exciting about that? Why was it even forbidden?

“Yeah. I mean, I’d ask him if you wanted to go see it. This place can get lonely and you’re still settling in. You don’t want him upset with you right off the bat.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

As they wandered back through spring towards the Keep, Gladiolus trimmed a single rose from a bush and picked at its thorns as they walked. 

Noctis eyed it a little as they walked. It was a perfect bloom, but in a colour he’d never seen. The middle of the bloom was a gentle, soft pink - but towards the edges and at the tips of the petals the colour was closer to coral. “It’s nice,” he offered. 

Gladiolus grunted a little and thrust it against Noct’s chest - though gentle enough so it wouldn’t be harmed. “Give this to Iggy on your way back through the kitchen.” Without another word - not even a please - the behemoth of a man clumped off towards the summer garden. 

Noct stared after him for a little while, then shook off his confusion and headed back in through the vegetable garden and the kitchen door. “Here,” he said, thrusting the rose towards the baker. “He wanted you to have this.”

Ignis took it with a tender smile, his fingers gentle. “Thank you. It’s a beautiful bloom.” Carefully trimming the leaves along the bottom with a pair of scissors probably made for the task, he placed it in a long, slender glass vase. He same smile sat on his face the whole time.

A realisation struck Noct forcefully. “You guys are in _love_ ,” he said suspiciously. 

Absolute tension cut across every line of Ignis’s body, except a gentle finger stroking the edge of the bloom. “Would that be something you take issue to, Noctis?” He asked, his voice _very_ carefully guarded. 

“Oh, dude no!” he said quickly. “I mean, _I’m_ gay! I just… feel like you should have told me.”

Ignis relaxed. But he didn’t turn back to look at him. “I am pleased to hear you admit it so easily. But you must understand, Noctis. The two of us come from a time where such behaviours were punishable by imprisonment and flagellation. Several years before I was turned out by my village, it was a death sentence to be caught in the act.” He took a deep, firm breath. “Gladiolus undoubtably understands the meanings behind the flowers he chooses to give me,” he continued. “But no words have ever passed between us. He was very careful to let me know, whence he first arrived, that he was a voracious lover of women. Perhaps you ought to keep your tongue around him upon this particular matter.”

“Uh. Yeah. Okay.” Noct stared at him a little funny for a moment, then went back to his now soggy cereal. “But it’s been a _hundred_ years,” he muttered. 

“One hundred years, two months and six days since he first arrived,” Ignis agreed. “We are all cursed here to eternity, Noctis. If anything, we have time.”

***

A month continued the same. Every three days, Gladiolus would either make him or Prompto bring Ignis a fresh flower to replace the wilting one. Prompto would disappear, sometimes mid-conversation, and come back later and take up exactly where he left off. Eight days was the maximum amount of time he disappeared for, and then wandered back into the kitchen still talking about the benefits of buttermilk pancakes over regular. 

And then after a month, the blond started acting strange. At lunch, he wandered in dressed like a renaissance faire stableboy, hair floppy around his face. He spoke in the strangest of accents, and all he got out of the question he asked Ignis was the word ‘ _bucket_ ’. The baker’s eyes were soft, but sad for him. “Aye,” he replied. “By the well.” 

Prompto gave him a deep, subservient bow, and then hurried out of the scullery into the yard. 

“Uh… what the fuck?” Noct asked, dull with confusion. 

Ignis only sighed and put down the bread he was kneading. “Can you go to the library? Let Gladiolus know that Prompto is having one of his days.” 

When he passed on the message, Gladiolus swore colourfully and closed his book with a snap. He hurried out and told Noctis he’d meet them in the kitchen. 

When Noct got back down, Prompto was knelt in the scullery. His hands were red-raw in steaming water, humming to himself as he scrubbed sudsy clothes against a washboard. Like a legit washboard. Noct had only ever seen them in movies about twangy bands with banjos. Ignis looked tired, kneading the dough of his bread quietly. 

Gladilous appeared, dressed for work in the garden. “Boy,” he barked. “Leave that to the scullery maids. Need you in the gardens!” 

Prompto hurriedly jumped up, dropping the clothes in the water. He bowed apologetically and practically ran out to the gardens. 

“Thank you,” Ignis mumbled, sounding exhausted. 

“S’nothing.” The man grunted and headed out into the garden. 

Noct let the awkward silence sit for like ten minutes and then blurted: “So, uh, you gonna explain?” 

“As best as I can,” Ignis answered. “I’ve only had my own experiences to work with.” He set the dough aside to rise and sat down on a stool. “When you first arrived, you asked how long Prompto had been at the Keep.” 

“Yeah. You said you didn’t know,” he recalled. 

“I said that I had doubts anyone could remember,” he corrected. “Even on his best days, I doubt Prompto himself does. But we suspect - Gladiolus and I - that the number figures more than a half-dozen centuries.” 

“...huh. But he seems so… tech-savvy.” Prompto had been the one to rewire the speakers in his room when the connectors had worn out. 

“Sometimes,” Ignis agreed. “Others… days like this. Well, there’s a reason Gladiolus takes him out to the garden. Last time I used a light-switch, he muttered about demons and witchcraft, and spent the night in the stables.” 

“Is he… always like this?” He asked carefully. 

“He has Eighties periods. And… well, Gladiolus calls them his ‘Mister Darcy’ moments. Once he started worrying about The Great War, and the refugees of Keycatrich - but I haven’t seen him do that again.” He sighed and massaged his temples. “But yes. Generally he’s like this.” 

“...eighties?” Noct echoed. 

“He is quite fond of the Punk subculture.” He sighed. “Try to show some sympathy, Noctis. Before I arrived, he was alone in this keep with only The Zegnautus Beast for company. For centuries, if not longer. We cannot fathom the way that inflicts one’s mind.” 

Noct looked out the window, feeling sadness wash over him as he watched Prompto traipse after Gladiolus with a hollow-eyed grin splitting his face. “Poor guy.”

”Indeed.” 

***  
TBC


	6. Beauty and the Beast Variation 3/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Ardyn. Physical and emotional abuse.

One afternoon, Prompto burst into the kitchen during dinner, practically vibrating with excitement. “Guys guys guys!” he said rapidly. “There’s a new Mario Party out!” He waved the game case around in the air, excited. 

Gladio groaned. “ _No_ ,” he said emphatically. “Never again! Nu-uh.” 

Prompto’s lips drew together in a pout. “But, Gladio…” 

“No way! I’m not playing that stupid game ever again!” he growled. 

“But it’s a new one, it might be different…” The blond whined. 

Noct was trying not to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand. He pulled it away to give Gladio a smirk. “Someone steal your star?” 

“Shut up,” he growled, and stomped out. 

Ignis shook his head in amusement. “Come eat some dinner, Prompto - we’ll play your video game afterward.” 

The three of them played for some time, and then Ignis excused himself at the end of the first game. Prompto looked at Noct hopefully. “You wanna keep playing…?” 

Noct stretched. He was about done with Mario Party, but he’d missed this. He’d never been to Prompto’s video game room since he’d come to the Keep. “What else you got?” 

Prompto beamed. 

Noct was relaxed, enjoying playing the TWEWY remake with Prompto, when the blond suddenly stiffened. He shoved Noct towards the cupboard. “Hide,” he hissed. 

“Wait, what?” Noct stuttered, stumbling along at each push. 

“I said _hide_ ,” Prompto hissed, sounding terrified. 

The door had just slammed closed on Noct when the main doors opened. He peeked through the gap in the door and covered his mouth. The Zegnautus Beast entered, hips swaggering. “Ah, my dear Empty. There you are.” 

“Ardyn,” Prompto said politely, carefully going to sit on a footrest. “What do you want?” 

“Don’t be like that,” the man cooed. He came forward and gently held Prompto’s chin between a few fingers. “We have had each other for a long time, Empty. Why, I’d almost call us friends, wouldn’t you?” 

Prompto didn’t answer that, but Noct thought he could see a shiver run through his body. 

The Beast released his face and went to inspect the television and game set up. “I think we’re almost there, don’t you? The technology seems to have caught back up.” He turned back to look at Prompto with an almost eager grin. “That means, any moment now, your dear prince will come wandering into my Keep. And then _finally_ , you can break this curse and I can at last move on to the next timeline.” 

“Yes, Ardyn,” Prompto said quietly. Noct thought it sounded like this was a conversation they’d had a lot of times. 

One hand ran through Prompto’s hair, styling it back up into its usual spikes. “Somehow it is always you in these universes,” he said thoughtfully. “So it must be you now. When the time comes, you know what you must do.” 

“Seduce the prince?” Prompto replied tiredly. 

The beast’s fingers squeezed the blond’s ear and twisted painfully, until Prompto was crying out and pleading for mercy. “No,” he growled, releasing him. “You must fall in love with him. And have him fall in love with you. Only True Love’s Kiss can break the spell, how many times must I tell you this?” 

“Right,” Prompto said weakly, bowing his head. “That.” 

The beast petted him again, like a pet he was very fond of. “Good, my little Empty. It won’t be too much longer.”

“Yes, sir.”

He petted him for a longer moment - and then his hand lashed out with sudden claws. Prompto hadn’t even had time to flinch, but he didn’t make a sound. He just rose a shaking hand up to cover his cheek. 

The Beast tutted in disapproval. “You can’t even fake surprise convincingly, little Empty. You truly are an empty, pretty shell.” He combed the clawed fingers through his hair. “But the prince shall love you, in his own way. He is the only one who ever does, but he does every time.” He leaned down and gave the top of his head a fond kiss. “The King of Light is the only one who could.” 

“I know, Ardyn,” Prompto said, his voice thick. 

“Shh-shh-shh,” he soothed, kindly and gentle. “It is not your fault, Empty. You’re just a madman’s creation made as heartless to become a mindless weapon of death.” The Beast didn’t seem to notice as Prompto was beginning to tremble under his touch. “But your prince will release me from this endless hell, and you shall have one who loves you at last.”

The Beast left at last, humming a jaunty little tune to himself as he walked. Noct was frozen, horrified, still standing in the closet. 

Prompto’s trembling became heaving shoulders, hard breaths - but it wasn’t until Noct heard the sniffle that he realised he was crying. Oh…

Noct pushed the door open, and Prompto froze up as he heard the noise. There was a hasty wiping of his face, and when he turned to look at Noct there was only a bright, sunny grin on his lips. But his eyes were still puffy red, his cheek sluggishly leaking blood from four deep, gouged scratches. “Prompto…”

“Hey, Noct. Totally forgot you were in there. Haha.” His voice was light, playful. 

“Prompto,” he tried again, his tone serious. 

“So, do you wanna keep going with TWEWY?” He asked, trying to be as bubbly as ever. But his voice was fragile, moments away from cracking. 

“Prompto!” He snapped, voice hard. That broke him. Lip trembling, he began to sniffle again. Noct moved forward and folded him into his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Don’t listen to him, Prompto. It’s okay.”

***

Gladio carefully patched Prompto up. A sweet-smelling poultice was applied to his cheek, and covered in a bandage. Noct stood aside with Ignis in the doorway of the sort of infirmary room, silently watching Prompto laugh loudly about… probably nothing of consequence. 

“Did he see The Beast?” Ignis asked, his voice cool and serious. 

“Has this happened before?” Noct asked, turning to look at him suspiciously. 

“Once or twice in my time,” he answered. “That I know of. He’s come to see me twice, shaken up like this - but he was only injured the once.” His expression was dark, furious on behalf of Prompto. But in an impotent kind of way. They both knew there was nothing they could do to protect Prompto from the Beast.

“He was saying really horrible things,” Noct murmured. “Calling him heartless, empty, that no one would ever love him except…”

“Except?” Ignis asked, turning to face him fully. 

“Well, he kept saying a prince?” Noct said. “I didn’t think this kingdom had any royals.”

“Not for a thousand years, at least,” Ignis said, his voice quiet. “Well. Now that we know his taunts, we can help Prompto see that they are false.” He rested his hand on Noct’s shoulder, and then slipped into the room to help Gladio.

***

His chocobo got bitten by a voretooth. He scared off the creature through the gates of the Keep and tended to his spooked mount. He wrapped it tight to stop it bleeding out, and ran back up to the kitchen. He needed Gladio’s help, not only because he seemed to know more than just basic first aid, but also because Noct would need his muscles to hold the chocobo down. 

Gladio warned him, as he threw some jars of herbs in a basket, that “my mother was a herbalist and apothecary for people, Noct. I have no idea how these are going to work on a bird.”

But then when they reached the stables, they froze in the doorway. Prompto was on the ground, the black chocobo curled around him on its side. Noctis gaped - He’d never actually seen his chocobo lay on its side before. That was something they only did when they were completely safe and secure in the wild. 

He held up a finger to warm them to keep silent, and Noct caught the sound of a softly hummed song, quickly jumping between a low note and a higher note. The chocobo’s injured leg was unwrapped, now elevated over Prompto’s shoulder. 

“You can’t wrap chocobo legs that tight,” Prompto said calmly, gesturing to the bandages on his other shoulder. “Their veins die really quickly when they’re cut off from blood, and their talons start to curl inwards. You almost lamed her.” 

He blinked. Twice. “Her?” 

Prompto chuckled a little at him. “Yes. Her.” He tilted his head towards Gladio. “Have you got Ifrit’s Nettle?” He asked. 

“What now?” Gladio repeated, sitting on the ground nearby. 

“Sometimes they call it chocobo’s feather? Or a thousand eyes?” He clarified. 

“Oh! Yarrow.” He unscrewed a jar. 

“Mix a poultice of that,” he said, nodding. “And then cover her leg in clay so she can’t peck at it while it works.” 

Gladio sent Noct out to get some clay from the spring riverbed, and when he came back with the bowl full of clay, it was only Prompto there with the chocobo - and he was lightly wrapping the poultice around the wound. 

Prompto smiled up at him as he settled on the ground nearby. “Thanks.” 

“You’re good at this,” Noct murmured, not wanting to disturb the bird. 

He hummed, carefully sealing the clay around the poultice. “I think I looked after chocobos, before I came here,” he said carefully, as if testing the truth of the statement. “I think I know a lot about them. How to take care of them.” 

“Or it only likes you ‘cause of your hair,” he teased, smiling at him. 

“My hair does not look like a chocobo butt!” Prompto laughed. 

The chocobo grumbled and curled protectively around him, preening through the blond’s hair a little. Noctis just gave him a smug look, as if that proved his point, and Prompto groaned. But there was a small, soft smile curling over his cheeks, so he was enjoying the joke as much as Noct was. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For looking after her. She’s… she’s the only thing I have left from home.” He stroked a finger across the top of her wing. “I don’t know if she’ll live forever like we do… but I’m not ready to lose her just yet.” 

Prompto reached out to take his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Any time, Noct.” They met eyes, and Noct felt something flutter in his chest as they smiled in the silence of the stables.


	7. Crownsguard Prompto 1/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Prompto that never befriended Noctis joined the Crownsguard of his own choice. Now he must deal with the Fall of Insomnia and helping the new king come to his rightful place.

Prompto could definitively say that he loved two things unconditionally in his life. Photography, and the crown prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. Unfortunately for his half-finished degree in photography, one greatly outweighed the other.

Okay, he wasn’t creepy about it. He’d been to school with the prince in elementary and high school. He’d had a few conversations with him, here and there. He wasn’t writing “Mr Prompto Caelum” in his notebooks, or carving their initials into trees, finding out where the prince lived so he could sit in the tree outside his window and try to take shots of him shirtless. 

He just wanted what was best for the prince, to make sure he was safe and happy. It wasn’t about wanting to be with him, doing everything he could to make sure they end up together. 

He did his first year of photography, and then instead joined the summer training program to become a Crownsguard Reserve. Then they were pleased with his progress and offered him a place at their proper training course. Now twenty years old, he was a junior member of the Crownsguard. Not trusted with supervising, like, any of the direct royals. Mostly he got the shitty night time shifts at the wall, but sometimes he got to guard the family of the royal shield. 

Lady Iris had a deep, intense crush on the prince. ( _Big fucking mood, though._ ) Whenever the prince’s shield, Lord Amicitia, came home she gleefully pumped him for all the information she could get on the prince. Prompto liked those shifts. Jarred Hester always made extra food for him to eat after his shift, and sometimes Lady Iris demanded he train with her. She kicked his ass and he only let her win half the time.

So he got updates on the prince regularly, and did his part to keep the prince and the kingdom safe. 

He was one of the first people who heard about the marriage. The treaty. Lady Iris cried in her room for two days. 

He stood awkwardly outside the door while Lord Amicitia tried to coax her to come out. At one of her loud wails, Prompto murmured: “how’s the prince taking it?”

One muscular shoulder shrugged. “Hard to tell with him.”

“I mean… does he like her?” He asked. “I heard they were friends.”

“Childhood friends, yeah,” Amicitia replied. “I don’t know. He’s not punching walls, at least.” The young lady had recovered enough to be able to say goodbye to her brother, part of the retinue that would be accompanying Prince Noctis to Altissia for the wedding. After that, Prompto was nervous to be invited into General Amicitia’s office at the Citadel - Lady Iris insisting she tag along to bring her father a fresh uniform.

He gave a salute, once she left the room. “General.” 

“Argentum.” The man sounded completely exhausted. He counted himself lucky that the head of the crownguard trusted him enough to be seen so vulnerable. “At ease.”

He relaxed his stance, waiting for the general to speak.

“You’ve been informed of the Crownsguard’s new purpose.”

“Yes, sir.” Though it wasn’t really a question. “To protect the citizens of Lucis. The Kingsglaive will be tasked with the protection of the Citadel and its inhabitants.” 

The general looked grim for a moment. “Yes. But…” His face became blank after a moment. “I have a special assignment for you, personally.”

“Sir?” He wasn’t sure he liked the tension suddenly coming over the general.

“While I am occupied at the Citadel during the time leading up to the treaty, I would like you to be personally responsible for the protection of the Amicitia Home.” His voice was serious. “I would like you to update yourself on the emergency evacuation procedures.” His eyes were hard. “Mr Hester and his grandson will be staying at the mansion for the duration of the imperial visit. I would like you to make Talcott and Iris your priority during this time.”

He bowed his head. “Of course, Sir.”

The eyes on him were suddenly intense. “I want you to trust your instincts, Argentum. If you feel there is danger to the children…” He paused, took a deep breath, and then seemed to recollect himself. “Safety, rather than caution, Mr Argentum. Nobody will interfere in your taking the evacuation steps prematurely.”

“Noted, sir.” The gossip was right, then. The King and the General did not expect the treaty signing to go well. 

“Monica Elshett and Dustin Ackers will be trading off shifts at the Mansion as well,” the general continued. “But I would like your constant attendance. Twenty-four hours, with your utmost possible vigilance.”

He bowed. “I will, General Amicitia.” 

He looked at him, intense. There was a kind of heavy grief in his gaze. “Take care of them, Prompto. Would you?”

“I will.”

***

On the day of the treaty signing, Prompto casually mentioned to Iris and Talcott that a picnic to celebrate the new peace. They took the idea with enthusiasm, and Prompto calmly invited Monica and Dustin to come with them. The six of them - Jarred included headed to the high cliffs that overlooked the Lucian Sound. 

Neither he or the other Crownsguards were surprised at the light that pierced the sky, the Wall breaking into shards and tumbling towards the ground. Or the Imperial airships that sailed toward the Citadel.

Lady Iris was screaming, fighting against Dustin’s grip. “Father! Let me go! We have to get father!”

“I took the liberty of packing some provisions and gil,” Jarred announced, taking a duffle bag out of the picnic set. “Thank you for including my grandson in your plans, Mr Argentum.” 

“Not just your grandson,” he said with a nod. 

The old butler looked down at his leg with a sad gaze. “I’d only slow you down.”

He shrugged. “Nah. Monica?”

She easily slung the elderly butler over her shoulder. Both she and Dustin were looking at him expectantly. He realised with a sharp stab of panic that they were looking at him to lead, that he was point on this mission. 

He took a deep breath and knelt down to give Talcott a piggyback. “There’s a stormwater drain that leads to the exterior of the wall. But after that we’ll have to swim for a bit.”

“I can’t swim,” Talcott mumbled. 

“That’s fine. You just hang on to me.”

It was hours later when they stood on the road outside the stone wall of Insomnia. They could see a huge robotic beast destroying huge skyscrapers. Lady Iris was sniffling, face buried in Jarred’s chest. 

“All the citizens…” Monica said in a begrieved whisper. “We were meant to protect them.”

“General Amicitia tasked me with getting his household out of the city to safety,” he said, keeping his voice strong though he felt dead on his feet. “I don’t know what orders he gave the two of you. But if you think they’re best by returning to the city, do as you wish.”

None of them spoke, but Monica gently extracted Iris from the butler’s grip and lifted him up again. 

***

They reached a place called Hammerhead before the sun properly set. Prompto wanted to continue on, but they were told not to. When the night fell, he learned why. 

He’d heard of daemons before, of course. They were like scary stories told to children to stop them from sneaking out at nighttime, or taking joy rides beyond the wall. Nothing could have prepared him for the reality.

The creatures made him cold to his core. Horrifying masses lifted from his nightmares. He didn’t sleep at all that first night. 

Hammerhead housed a goddess of a woman: Cidney Aurum. If he hadn’t been so consumed with the attack on Insomnia, on getting his charges to safety, he might’ve fallen for her, and fallen for her hard. (Yes, he loved Noctis more than anything in his life and probably always would, but he knew with equal certainty that nothing could ever come from those feelings.) She found them a car, and taught him how to give it the basic repairs. It was technology thirty years old, but he caught on to it quick. 

Monica decided to stay behind in Leide, to assist Marshal Leonis with his efforts in recovering what they could from the city. They left at full morning the next day - Dustin and Jarred in the front seat, Prompto crunched one side of the back in with Lady Iris and Talcott. He was glad, for only one reason, they didn’t have any belongings - if only because that would’ve made the car impossibly cramped. 

He missed his camera. And his neighbours. What if his adopted parents had been in the city? He took out his phone, checked it to see if they had returned his call or sent him a text. Nothing.

He put the phone back away, turning to look out the window. One foot began to jiggle in place.

According to the schedule, Prince Noctis should be settling in at Altissia, having gotten there yesterday afternoon or evening. Six, how would he find out the news? He hoped someone managed to break it to him gently. There was no easy way to learn that his kingdom had fallen and his father was dead. That the treaty he had forged with his marriage was a trap. 

“Prompto, you’re stepping on my toes!” Lady Iris complained. 

“Apologies, my lady.” He forced himself to keep his legs still. 

The gentle soundtrack on the radio suddenly cut off. “An update on the attack on Insomnia: Lord Ravus Nox Flauret has released a statement that the attack on the capital city was conducted by a group of insurgents against the treaty. The Empire will begin recovery efforts shortly. We urge all citizens to come forward with any relevant information. As to ceasefire discussions between the two nations, all provisional terms have been suspended in light of recent developments. Moreover, in the wake of the news of King Regis's death, we've now received word that Crown Prince Noctis and the Oracle Lunafreya have also been pronounced dead.”

Prompto couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear the rest of the broadcast. His pulse was loud in his ears, and Iris was shrieking with horror. The car pulled over on the side of the road and Lady Iris threw herself at the door and out onto the side of the road. 

It couldn’t be true. He’d known, when the wall had fallen, that the king must be dead. He knelt next to a sobbing Iris. “Hey,” he said quietly. “The prince and your brother are fine. The empire lies. He wasn’t anywhere near the city. They should be in Altissia.”

She took a deep breath. “Are you sure?” She asked shakily. 

He gave her a smile and nodded. “Yeah. You have my word. Send him a message, he’ll call you when he can.”

She clung to him tightly and he lifted her up, taking her back to the car. Maybe if they said it enough he could even believed it too.

***

Marshal Leonis sent him a message with an update the next day, when they had settled in to The Leville at Lestallum. (Lestallum! Like the Asssassin’s Creed video game!) Prince Noctis was alive, and on a quest to collect the Royal Arms. He was ordered to use any information from Jarred and local resources to find any nearby. The Immortal had a few in Leide to show him before he could send the prince on his way. 

Prompto let Dustin inform her ladyship about the prince. He couldn’t deal with her excitement right now. He headed out to the local bar and sat in a dark corner nursing a beer. 

Prince Noctis was alive. Really, actually alive. He took out his phone, opening up the photo app until he found his folder ‘The Embarrassing Collection of Pictures of Noctis Stolen From The Internet’. He opened the latest pic and just looked down at it. It was an official shot of the prince’s 20th birthday celebration, posed in front of the custom Audi - standing alongside his father. 

Was Noctis the king now? There had been no coronation - there probably wouldn’t be for a very long time if ever. But King Regis was dead. Noctis had to know that by now. A part of him ached to be able to offer some kind of comfort to the king - however small it might be. But that would only be unwelcome. 

Prompto had never managed to be more than on the very periphery of the prince’s life. Hidden behind the camera more often than not. The prince might know his name - though even that was doubtful - but it couldn’t be more than that.

But Noctis was alive. Really, truly alive. And in more danger than ever before. The empire was urging citizens to report information about a car that sounded suspiciously like the Regalia. Airships swooped the skies and huge portable garrisons were being flown into existing forts. The prince could more than hold his own, and he had Lord Amicitia (Or was he Duke Amicitia now? Did he inherit his father’s title?). Not to mention, his advisor Chamberlain Scientia was fucking badass on his own. But still. It was only the three of them against all Magiteks the empire could gather to oppose them.

He shuddered and left his now lukewarm beer on the table. He tossed down a couple extra Gil for a tip and headed back out to the Leville. 

He ended up on the roof, looking up at the stars he could barely see through the haze of light pollution. Noctis was his king now. The capital may have fallen, but he had made his vows as a Crownsguard to do all he could in the service of the crown to serve and protect. If the Marshal needed him to track down royal arms, he would. For Lucis. And for Noctis.

***  
TBC


	8. Crownsguard Prompto 2/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what does our prince think of all this?

Noct could remember, vividly, the first time he learned that Prompto - sweet, shy Prompto who rescued stray kittens, and hid his pretty, sun-kissed face behind a camera - had joined the Crownsguard. _His_ Prompto. 

Okay, not his. Ten years of longing and a teenage crush fit for a king did not make the guy his own. 

Still. Prompto, who had - _literally_ \- tripped over himself when they were in elementary school to introduce himself to a friendless hiding behind the sheds where no one could whisper about how many servants he had or ask him what it was like to be a prince. The same Prompto who, after that first meeting had ended rather abruptly, tried to stealthily follow him around looking for an opportunity to introduce himself again. The very Prompto who Noct had hoped to find a proper non-assigned friend and, when he got old enough to realise friends didn’t really daydream about holding hands with their friends and counting all his freckles. That Prompto. Had become a Crownsguard. 

Okay sure, he wasn’t the same cute chubby kid with the nerdy glasses Noct still sometimes pictured in his head. Noct has been just as attracted to him in middle school as he had been when Prompto had suddenly shown up at High School now _unfairly_ hot. Placing first in the track team and doing cross-country in shorts that cupped his rudely pert ass and shirts with sleeves torn off to let lithely muscled biceps breathe. He was certainly physically fit enough to pass the physical qualifications but he just seemed to _soft_ to join the Crownsguard. 

The first Noct has heard of it, he’d choked on his cereal. 

Gladio has come over with Ignis to go over the week’s training schedule now that college was resuming and his poli-sci degree was looming ahead after long, glorious month of respite. They were talking about the new recruits, and how they would have to fit around the drills and introductory courses. 

Then Ignis had asked: “anyone of note?”

Gladio had shrugged, rattled off a few noble names - second sons and such who needed to do something to keep their prestige, shit like that. “Oh, and Dad brought one up from the Reserves during the summer course. Promising ranged fighter. What’s his name? Argent something.”

There was a slight pause, and then Ignis had asked, very very carefully: “I don’t suppose you mean Prompto Argentum.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

And suddenly there was a fruit loop lodged in his windpipe and he coughed and hacked until Gladio smacked him on the back to dislodge it. He whirled on the two of them. “Prompto?” He demanded. “Prompto _Argentum_?”

Ignis gave his sort of harried-mother look and sighed. “It would seem so.”

“No, what’s he doing in the Crownsguard? He’s at Insomnia Arts on a full ride for photography!” he protested. 

Ignis knew that. Ignis had caught him applying secretly for the school in Prompto’s name with a portfolio he’d acquired through… ethically dubious means. Ignis had called the Dean and secured him a spot, so as to stop Noctis from abusing his royal power and royal powers any further. 

He put his fist on the table - didn’t slam it, that was unbecoming of a prince. “I want him.” “Noctis…” Yes, there was harried mother Ignis again. 

“I’m allowed to have three members of my official royal retinue. I pick him for the last spot.” He raised his chin defiantly. 

Ignis sighed and looked to Gladio for help. The Shield grunted. “He might not even make it through basic training, yet.”

And then six months later it was “he’s still a Junior Member of the Crownsguard. He’s not even allowed inside the Citadel yet. External assignments only.” Accompanied quickly by a pitying look and the comment: “I’ll put in a word with my father, okay?”

Prompto was assigned to the Amicitia Mansion. As casually as he could manage (not very casually at all, Ignis insisted), he would ply Gladio for as much information as he could get out of him. 

What was he doing? (Standing around outside Iris’s rooms, Noctis.) Did he look like he was eating enough? (He’s skinny, but _yes_ I’ve suggested he follow the mess hall’s meal plan for bulking up.) Was he still doing photography? (A couple classes online part-time at the college, still under his scholarship.) Had he ever mentioned dating anyone? (Nope. That’s it. I’m out. If you want to gossip, go talk to Iris!)

And then he found out about the wedding. 

***

When the grief about his father, about his citizens, about his fallen home, began to settle somewhere manageable, Prompto came to mind. Half-asleep, he’d jolted up in the passenger seat in a panic. “Oh, gods. Who got out?” He demanded. “Do we know if anyone got out?”

Gladio and Ignis were grim. Ignis told him not to lose faith. 

Coming back from the outlook, the smoking ruins of his home burned into his eyes, he couldn’t stop one haunting thought. What if Prompto hadn’t made it out alive? What if he’d been in the attack on the Citadel? What if he’d never said goodbye, or got to hear Prompto really laugh, or held his hand? 

“I got a message from my sister,” Gladio commented, staring down at his phone. “She’s with refugees bound for Lestallum.”

“Thank the six,” Ignis murmured from the driver’s seat. 

“Did she mention anyone else…?” Noct asked hopefully. 

“Jarred and Talcott, and she said a couple of Crownguards who helped them get out.” He turned in his seat, giving Gladio a look begging for the answer he wanted. 

“I don’t know, Noct. I think my dad-” his voice cracked a little, “-was assigning Monica and Dustin during the signing.”

And then there wasn’t time to think about it. They had Cid to talk to and Cor the Restless to track down. Monica was there, at the outpost on the prairie. 

He didn’t even think to ask, but Gladio did: “Where’s all the others?”

She looked heavy with grief. “Most of the Crowguard didn’t make it. It was all we could do to escort Lady Iris out of the city.”

“Dustin?”

“With your sister as we speak, escorting her the rest of the way to Lestallum.”

Grief sunk Noct’s chest again. No mention of Prompto. It was true then. He was _gone_.

He shored up his grief, tucking it away to be dealt with when he had the liberty of a personal moment. “Where’s Cor?”

“He awaits you in the royal tomb. Up ahead.” 

***

He threw himself into anything but his thoughts, his grief. Taking hunts for gil, gathering ingredients for Takka, car parts for Cindy, being blackmailed by that skeevy reporter in Galdin Quay, dog tags for Dave, frogs for Professor Yaegre, taking out a huge behemoth for the guy who ran the chocobo post. (He did that one, in his heart, for Prompto. The blond loved chocobos more than anything.)

And then, weary and out of tasks to do in places he could access, he stood in front of a blockade cutting them off from Ignis’s requested pilgrimage to the Disc of Cauthess. The smoking remains of the imperial forces guarding it lay around them on the road. 

He felt a warm, warm weight on his shoulder and turned to look at Gladio. “So, we hitting Lestallum soon?”

Noctis hesitated. Going to Lestallum would bring it all back, would mean he had to get serious about this quest for his ancestral weapons. But Gladio was antsy, desperate to see for himself that Iris was okay.

“...yeah. Let’s move on.” Noctis said, resigned. 

“Good,” his Shield said, pleased. He nodded. “We’ve kept Iris waiting long enough.”

***  
TBC


	9. Crowsguard Prompto 3/?

Clarus Amicitia assigned mandatory meditation for all members of the Crownsguard. Mental wellbeing was as important for their health as their physical state. The techniques had never really worked well for Prompto. He just couldn’t sit still long enough to let his mind wander, before his leg was jumping, his fingers twitching, and his mind wandering along fifty different tangents before he even remembered he was supposed to be clearing it. And then one afternoon early in his training Titus Drautos had led him to a room full of broken-down mechanics and told him to disassemble everything he could and salvage for useable parts. An hour later, his mind was clear, and he had repaired some previously scrapped tech and left the rest in perfectly neat piles on the benchtops around him.

It had earned him the half-playful monicker ‘technophile’ in the locker rooms. But it was a technique that worked. He’d come back to his room in the barracks at the end of the day to find Crownguards and Kingsglaives alike had piled their broken tech on his desk, with yellow post-it notes with their names so he knew who he had to return it to. When he’d finished his training, they gave him his very own workbench in the store-rooms. Once every day - or more often if he needed it - he’d go back to his bench, get his fingers busy, and clear his mind. 

Since leaving Insomnia, he hadn’t had much to do. His brain was all over the place, body restless with it. After particularly harsh nightmares, he’d taken the engine of the car apart at two in the morning, cleaned everything spotless and put it back together. 

Eventually, he found a second-hand tech store with an old repair shop annexed to it that had closed down. He sweet-talked the woman who owned it until she let him at least finish the few small repairs that had been backlogged since her coworker had...well, he was pretty sure they died but he never actually asked.

Pleased with his work, she let him set up shop in the annex for a cut of his income. He wasn’t there all the time. Even with a pity discount for their being refugees and all, their room at the Leville wasn’t cheap. Dustin was constantly away from the city, taking hunts and sending back all the gil he could. Prompto took what jobs he could close to the city - he was always chasing daemons out of the powerplant overnight - and still chasing up leads about royal tombs whenever he found something. At some point, the chocobo rental service had become available again and Ifrit’s ballsac it had made his legwork much easier: Dustin was always taking the car.

He figured he’d missed the prince and his retinue during one of his journeys out. Iris seemed much calmer with her anxieties about her brother and Prince Noctis these days, at least. 

It had been a month since the fall of Insomnia. He was sitting in the window of his repair workshop, propped open to try and get _any_ breeze in as his deskfan pushed about humid hair. A big man, slicked with sweat, his curly hair pulled out of his face, came to a stop outside of his repair shop - one meaty hand waving frantically back and forth to try and give himself whatever air movement he could. Taking pity on him, Prompto turned the deskfan so it blew across his sweat-slicked face. “Yo.”

“You’re the Hunter asking around about royal tombs, ain’t you?” The man asked.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, just a touch wary. He put down the portable radio he was taking apart and looked at him seriously. Occasionally some people came forward with information. 

“I got a lead about the location of a royal tomb, but I want something out of it.” The man said. Well, at least he was forward about it.

Prompto leaned back against his seat. “Uh-huh.” He didn’t say anything else, just waited for the guy to go on.

“But I don’t expect something for nothing. If you do good work, I’ll pay you for it.” The guy continued.

“Pay me for it.” Prompto repeated. Pay him for what, exactly?

“I want a photo of the royal tomb, and the nearby gate,” the man insisted.

Prompto raised his eyebrows slightly. A...photography assignment. Part of him was desperate to say yes. It had been so long since he’d been able to take more than some shots of Iris and Talcott messing around, or the parts he needed replacements for. “Why are you coming to me?”

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you, kid. I can’t get any of my photographers to go out there. It’s in a dangerous spot, you know? But figure a Hunter like you wants to see it anyway, right? Two birds with one stone.”

He folded his arms and leaned on the benchtop. “So, where is it then?” 

“You mean you’ll do it? That’s great, kid. Music to my ears. Now, you’re gonna need a camera. So what I suggest you get is a LOKTON LX.”

Oh, his LOKTON. Probably rubble in his room at the Citadel now. He felt something painful squeeze in his chest and sat back, a soft ‘hah’ of a laugh escaping his lips. “Right. And who’s paying for that, exactly?”

The man laughed. “Can’t fool you, can I kid? You know your tech.” He got out his phone. “Alright, I’ll advance you some gil for the equipment, but it’s coming out of your fee.” Silently, he took out his phone and held it up so the man could buzz him the funds. The man paused as he took in the model. “Crown City make,” he commented, eyes studying him carefully. “You’re no regular hunter, are you kid?”

He put his phone back down on the bench and handed over a paper map of the country. “So where’s this tomb then?”

***

Exhausted, Prompto tromped over to Vyv standing on the lower part of Lestallum not far from the outlook into Cauthess. He was scraped up and bruised, limping over to him. 

“Whoa!” Vyv said, wincing as he saw him. “Looks like you weren’t successful.” 

“I got your pictures,” he said with a grunt. He pulled the photo tin out of his sidebag and tossed it in his direction.

The publisher made a surprised noise as he fumbled to catch it, and then pried the tin open. “....whoa,” he said, sounding almost awed by the pictures. “ _You_ took these? While all _that_ was going on?” He gestured to his scuffed up form.

He grunted. Most of this had happened _after_ the tomb. He’d found it smashed open and had to follow frankly _terrifying_ track-marks over to the Costlemark ruins. He’d gotten maybe two levels down before he’d had to use a phoenix down and barely survived getting back out. In the end he’d just left a note on the sarcophagus and left it. 

“There are fantastic,” Vyv said, admiring them. “You’ve got some real talent, kid.”

He grunted. “I was at Insomnia Arts for a while. Before.” 

He held out his phone to buzz over the money. Prompto stared for a long time at the ‘5000g’ that popped up on his screen. “Uh.”

“We’ll call it hazard pay. And a bonus for expertise.” He looked at the pictures again, impressed. 

He just nodded wearily. He could replace the phoenix down, at least. He and Dustin has talked about maybe getting an apartment in Lestallum, but baulked at the price of the deposit. They might be able to do it, with a chunk of cash like this.

Vyv seemed done with him, and Prompto headed back through town to his little repair shop. He bought the Phoenix Down as he passed. 

The woman who owned the shop winced as she saw him. “What happened to you?” 

“Trouble,” he replied. “You got any camera parts?” His LX-10 had been pretty badly smashed up in the hunt. 

She grabbed him a box under the table, shuffling about. “Couple things. Nothing I could sell.”

“How much you want for the box?” He asked. 

She shook her head and handed it over. “Just take it. It hurts just looking at you, I don’t wanna see what your new camera looks like.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. He closed the door to the repair workshop and sat down at the table and let himself get lost in the repair work. 

There was a beat up LX-30 there (just like the one he’d abandoned back at Insomnia), so he worked on restoring that one instead of the 10. 

By the time his brain felt less gummed up and the weight on his chest felt half as light, he had a frankensteined camera in his hands that was perfectly workable. 

Tucking it carefully in his sidebag he stood up to leave. He cried out as his leg buckled at the sudden weight, his entire body straining with pain. 

“You okay in there?” She called through the closed door. 

“Y-Yeah. I just… should’ve gone to the medic before I sat down to work.” He took a deep breath and packed up his workshop, beginning the painful walk back to the Leville. It was night by the time he got back to the hotel, stopping every time the pain got too much to try out the new camera. (They looked as good as his old camera did at least. But he’d have to build his old cache of presaved filters back up. 

“Good evening, Mister Argentum,” the concierge greeted. “Young Master Talcott asked me to inform you that everyone is gathered in Suite 20 this evening.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. Suite 20 was one of the nicer suites on the floor above them. He didn’t relish the extra flight of stairs but maybe their usual room had been given to a needier family. 

He let himself into the room - it was empty except for the sound of the sink in the bathroom. Jarred had probably taken the kids to get dinner. 

“Dustin, I’m back,” he called through the door. “Can you bring out the first aid kit? I got roughed up on the hunt.”

He headed over to the bed, wriggling out of his boots with a pained grunt. Yep, that ankle was at least sprained. 

The door opened with a rough pull. Maybe Dustin was in a mood. “Sorry I took the car overnight. I ended up in Costlemark overnight. 0/10 Do Not Recommend.”

“...Prompto?”

That was not Dustin. That was not even Jarred. But he knew that voice as well as he knew anyone else’s voice in the world. “Noctis.” The name escaped his lips on a breath. Before he could think about it, notice he shouldn’t be addressing the literal king by his given name. 

He threw himself forward, onto one knee before him. His ankle was screaming in pain, but he held a fist to his chest and bowed his head reverently. 

“My king,” he murmured. He waited to see if he would say anything, but continued in the silence. “I apologise for my failure at the imperial invasion,” he said sincerely. “There was nothing more I could do to save your father, or anyone at the Citadel, or Lady Lunafreya. I was assigned to the Amicitia Household, and it was all I could do to get the household out.” He closed his eyes. “I wish I could have done more for your people.” 

“Prompto…”

He shivered at his tone. “It’s my wish to continue serving the crown,” he said insistently. “Will you accept my devotion, my lifelong commitment to you as my king and commander?”

There was a little shudder of a breath as he spoke ‘devotion’ and ‘lifelong commitment’. Had he said it wrong?

Fuck, yes he had. He’d been trying to remember the Kingsglaive vows from a book. It had been lifelong dedication and commission to the crown, and the king as commander. The other vows were in another part of the same tome, but he couldn’t remember _what_ they were for.

“Uh, I mean…”

A hand rested on his bowed head. “I humbly accept, and for your dedication you will be rewarded with the king’s favour.” The hand lingered a moment, and then lifted. “Present your weapon.” 

He unbuckled his holster and offered out to the king on outstretched hands. The king took it off him. 

“This is usually done with a sword,” Noctis murmured. 

Prompto felt the butt of the gun placed on one shoulder, then the other. And then the king turned it into crystal light and plunged it into his chest. He gasped out loud, head thrown back and meeting the glowing blue eyes of his king. He felt the magic settle along every line of his bones, through every vein, out his fingertips until the foreign weight of a pistol appeared in his grip. 

He broke the eye contact, feeling the magic snap like a rubber band into his chest, and looked down at his hand. It was a pistol, but more intricately designed and patterned than he had ever seen. “Oh… it’s beautiful.”

“It’s your first favour from the king,” Noctis muttered. His voice sounded rough, thick with some unspoken emotion. “Rise, Sir Prompto Argentum, Knight of the Kingsguard.” 

It was the end of the ceremony, so he quirked a smile. “So what you’re saying, is I’m a King’s Knight?”

Noctis snorted at him. He offered a hand down, curled to the side so he gripped Prompto’s hand around the back of his palm as he hoisted him up onto his feet. 

His ankle sliced through with fresh pain and he fell forward, making an ashamed squeak as he landed face-first against the king’s chest. “Uh… can I get that first aid kit now?”

“...allow me.”

***  
TBC


	10. Crownsguard Prompto 4/?

Noctis had called off going to get dinner with everyone. The city was too crowded, too hot, too loud. He stayed in, and he showered and put in fresh clothes. He was brushing his teeth when he heard the door open and close again. 

And then a voice he never thought he’d get to hear again sounded through the door. “Dustin, I’m back! Can you bring out the first aid kit? I got roughed up on the hunt.” The words hardly sunk in. He was scrambling towards the door and throwing it open. 

Prompto Argentum was sitting on the bed. _His_ Prompto Argentum. Alive and here and _living_. He was a mess of scrapes and bruises, his Crownsguard Fatigues were torn up and hastily patched together with safety pins and roughly stitched thread. He was still talking - his voice a balm to a part of Noct’s soul that had been fractured into shards since the morning he learned of the attack. 

“Prompto?” The word escaped his mouth, with all the reverence of a prayer. 

Surprise filled every line of the blond’s marked-up body. One of the heavy duty boots dropped out of his fingers and thunked on the ground - the blond didn’t even seem to notice. 

Prompto said his name in a way he’d never heard anyone use before. All breathless amazement, twisted with a sort of almost painful relief. 

And then in a moment his expression was guilt. Too fast for Noct to tell him to stop, he was throwing himself at Noct’s feet. He opened his mouth, to tell him to stand up - but Prompto spoke first. 

He was _apologising_. How could he apologies, or even think he should’ve done more? Noct couldn’t keep his tongue. “Prompto,” he began - ready to tell him he’d done enough. That his being here was more than enough. 

But a shudder racked Prompto’s body and he charged on: “It’s my wish to continue serving the crown.” 

Oh, Prompto. Did he really think he’d be cast off? 

“Will you accept my devotion?” Oh _six_. “My lifelong commitment,” Oh **fuck**! “to you as my king and commander.”

Noctis had learned at a very early age the different oaths various members of their council and guard could swear to them and the crown and what they meant. A heavy, dusty tome written in fading ink on yellowed paper listed the different roles one could serve and the oaths they had to swear. The ones Prompto had chosen were similar to those Ignis had sworn, and part of what Gladio had sworn, when they’d become his official retainers. But back then, they had given themselves to their crown prince, to the future king - their lifelong commitment yes, but their _loyalty_ too. 

Prompto couldn’t possibly know the weight of the oath which he had chosen. The embarrassment and confusion that crossed his expression soon after showed as much. Because the use of devotion itself - a word that went beyond loyalty, dedication. The word encompassed the desire behind the loyalty - feeling, such strength of feeling to put it above all others. And to join it with lifelong commitment...

These oaths had fallen out of favour centuries ago, when joining the kingsguard meant you could form no other relationships or attachments. If he accepted this offer, Prompto would be bound to him more intimately than Ignis, his life and body given to him in a different manner than Gladio’s as his sworn Shield. The last time those particular words had been chosen were sworn to Queen Eirene the Just, by the men of her kingsguard to whom she was in turn faithful and one of whom she bore children for. 

He really ought to reject this oath. He really should tell Prompto which oath to use to become his kingsguard, his royal retainer - not this. He should tell him he wasn’t _king_ , to swear to him as crown prince and future king. Hell, he should tell him to swear himself to _Insomnia_ , and not a twenty-year-old guy afraid and unprepared. 

He lifted one hand and placed it atop Prompto’s head, fingers sinking in to the hard gel mass to the soft hairs below. “I humbly accept,” he responded, his voice much surer than the tumult of emotions in his chest _felt_. “And for your dedication, you will be rewarded with the king’s favour.” 

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment. He was naming himself king. Prompto could have no idea of the gravity of this act, what his desperation had brought. But for Prompto… for his Prompto, he would be king. 

Silently, his voice not even a breath in the air, he added: “and his devotion to match yours.” But he had let the moment linger to long, and removed his hand. “Present your weapon.” 

It wasn’t a sword that was given. Certainly wasn’t produced in a burst of crystal blue light - Prompto had only been a Junior Crownsguard, not bestowed with the honour of borrowing the royal powers to arm and equip himself. 

That was the first thing Noct would change. He touched Prompto’s shoulders with the end of the gun, crossing over his head and heart to bind him to the oaths. Then he drew on the power, the thread of magic that tied him to Gladio and Ignis as well, and enveloped Prompto’s weapon, before plunging it into his heart. 

The magic pulsed through Prompto like a current, his body arching, their eyes meeting for the first time since… since they were just children meeting for the first time. He remembered the gun he’d squirrelled away in their shared inventory, a crafted work of art and machinery that Noctis had wanted to give him when he swore in as a member of his royal retinue. He wasn’t surprised to see it materialise in Prompto’s hand. The Quicksilver. Gladio had laughed at him and Ignis had only looked resigned when they found the bill. 

“Oh,” Prompto’s voice escaped in a little burst of awe. “It’s beautiful.” 

“It’s your first favour from the king.” Oh, six. He was a king. He’d declared himself the king now. He’d cast off, even if it was only in his own mind, the protective mantel of ‘the crown prince’, and accepted his duty. His crown. His throne. 

He shook his thoughts off. He still had to finish the ceremony, and bring them back out of this solemn space. “Rise, Sir Prompto Argentum,” words he’d been longing to say since he learned Prompto was joining the crownguard. And the last part he didn’t think he’d have to addend for many years to come: “Knight of the Kingsguard.” 

And then Prompto was smiling at him, up from the floor. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m a King’s Knight?” 

He tried to suffocate the laugh down. Well, Prompto could be trusted to break the tension, if what he heard from Gladio was right. He reminded himself to ask Prompto later if he played too. He offered a hand down, ignoring the burst of feeling in his chest when their hands touched again, ten years later, and this time hoisted him to his feet without any complaints about the weight. 

There was a vicious cracking noise, and Prompto fell forward, squeaking as he landed hard against Noct’s chest. When he spoke, it was sheepish and embarrassed: “Uhhh, can I get that first aid kit now?” 

Noct had completely forgotten the greeting that had alerted him to Prompto’s presence in the first place: a complaint about a hunt, and a request for the first aid kit. Well… Noctis would do one better. “Allow me.” 

Prompto quickly nodded and, at Noct’s awkward instructions, stripped down to his boxer shorts so he could see the extent of the damage. The blond’s skin, under painfully purple and green bruises and the galaxy of freckles of his skin a splotchy blush was spreading from the height of his cheeks to the lithe musculature of his torso. Noct tried to be professional, which meant no admiring. It was hard. 

He unstoppered a magic flask, mixing in an elixir with the elemancy he had stored up in his core. He stirred his hand around the thin neck of the flask and called it to life, a golden glow swirling about his fingers. Healing magic always felt like his thoughts of Prompto did - a gentle warmth like the sun on a winter’s day. He shifted and began to sink to the ground to start with the ankle that seemed to be giving Prompto trouble. 

The blond gave a mortified groan, reaching up to cover his face. “Oh my god. You’re the _king_ , you can’t _kneel_ for me!” 

“I’ll happily kneel for you,” he muttered, and ghosted his fingers across the swollen skin. He felt the magic sinking in, the extent of the injury revealing from how much of the magic it drew. “Prompto,” he said seriously. “This is broken. Were you walking on a fractured ankle?” 

“What?” He asked, lifting his head to looking down at him. “No, it was just sprained right?” 

“Not by the feel of it.” He pushed more gold under the skin, knitting together the bone and accelerating the repair of the capillaries and muscles. “Why didn’t you take a potion?” 

“Didn’t have one,” he said, his voice sighing out in relief. His fingers relaxed on the coverlet. “There’s only so much space I can fit in the sidebag.” 

“Well you don’t have to worry about that now,” Noct murmured, fingers gliding up over the fine blond hairs of his calf. There weren’t freckles here, where the sun never saw, but there was a few natural moles. Bruises and scrapes cleared from his skin, leaving the pale dots and silvery lines the only marks on his skin. 

The door opened as Noct was working on a set of vicious scratches along his ribs when, onto the second flask of magic. Ignis and Gladio stood in the doorway, bags of food in their hands. Prompto gasped and covered his face again in embarrassment. 

Ignis just quietly reached to close the door again. “His highness has fallen asleep, let us instead gather in your room, Lady Iris.” 

When Noct reached Prompto’s face, he felt exhausted from the efforts of sustaining healing magic for so long. The egg on his forehead, the scrapes across his cheek and the bridge of his nose, the swollen black eye - all disappeared to reveal the charming freckles and a subtle pink blush under his skin. 

Last, his finger ghosted across the fat lip easing the swollen flesh and knitting the split skin until his lips were back to their usual shape - the thin, bow-shaped upper lip and the plumper bottom one, shape naturally pouty. The last of his energy gave out, the magic sweeping away - his finger dropped and pressed against the bottom lip. It tugged his mouth open a little, and warm breath gusted across Noct’s fingertip as he exhaled shakily. 

_I’ll never know what he tastes like,_ the thought came unbidden to his mind. He tried to trample it down, curling his hand away. “There. All done. Better than a first aid kit.” He moved over and collapsed onto the bed. 

Prompto sat still for just a moment, then stood up, tugging his clothes back on. “Thanks, my king.” 

“Noct,” he corrected. 

“H-huh?” 

“You’re mine now. My King’s Knight. You can call me Noct.” 

“Noct.” A gentle voice, warm with affection. Footsteps retreating, and then returned - a warm blanket draping around him. A pause, and then a gentle hand ran through his hair. “Goodnight, my king.” 

***  
TBC


	11. Crownsguard Prompto 5/?

Prompto woke up the next morning, the memories of the previous night circling around in his head. Had he really sworn himself to King Noctis? (Noct.) Had he spent a whole hour painstakingly taking care of Prompto’s every bump and bruise? Had the literal Shield of the King thumped him on the back and said “welcome to the team”? Had Lord Ignis ‘Supernanny’ Scientia actually touched his shoulder and smiled at him? Did Lady Iris Amicitia muttered ‘finally’ and rolled her eyes?

Prompto couldn’t dare to believe it. But he flexed his hand and summoned the gorgeous new weapon he’d got hand-me-down from the king. His _first favour_. Was the second his healing magic? Or was that an implication that the longer he was in service the more rewards he’d get? 

The gun _was_ a beauty. A hand-made pistol with platinum filigree on the handle and shaft. When he opened it to see the assembly it was a work of finely crafted expertise. Noctis had probably received it as a birthday present or something. Or was his entire magic arsenal filled with weapons that cost more than Prompto could ever make in his life?

He reassembled it and let it drop back into the arsenal. He better get up. He’d spotted a few repairs built up over the past few days in his workshop. He dressed casually, sidebag at his hip - he didn’t even need to strap on his holsters any more, did he?

Talcott was standing with the other members of the kingsguard, chatting eagerly. “Hey Prompto!” the kid greeted, waving him over. “I was going to show Ignis and Gladio the sights around town!”

“Would you like to accompany us, Prompto?” Ignis asked with a welcoming look. 

“Nah, it’s okay. Talcott’s your best tour guide. I gotta head to work anyway, someone’s gotta pay the bills!” He ruffled the kid’s hair. “I’ll walk with on the way though.”

Talcott was a walking guidebook, really. He waved them off and shut himself up in the workshop. It was an hour or so later, the pile of repairs reduced significantly, when he heard Iris’s voice. “And this is the second hand shop where Prompto works!” She was announcing. She must’ve caught up with the tour. She knocked on the door to the workshop and threw it open. “Here he is!”

He waved at her absently, wrists-deep in the open chassis of a security drone. “Hey, your ladyship. Go look around the shop, I’ll he put in a second.”

She laughed slightly and heard her retreating footsteps. He reconnected the wires, gave it a shot of electricity to test the rotating blades, and then began to reassemble the frame. He reached for his tiny screwdriver, grunting in annoyance when it was just out of range. 

And then someone was putting it in his hand. “Thanks,” he muttered, and started screwing it back into place. 

“You’re welcome.” 

He froze at the sound and, turning his head, stared as he saw King Noctis leaning against his workbench, watching him with a tired smile. “Noct…” he said, embarrassed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Iris was showing me about town,” he said. “She said she’d show me your workroom on the way back to the Leville.”

He stuck the post-it note on fixed drone and turned his seat to look at him. “O-Oh. Well. This is it. Argentum Repairs and Customisations.” He gestured around the cramped workroom. “It’s not much, but it keeps us in a decent room at the Leville.”

Noct just smiled. “You done for the day? The guys are probably back from their walk with Talcott by now, as he said he had a report on some royal tombs for me.”

He eyed the pile of repairs guiltily, but stood with a nod. “Yeah. I gotta report in to Master Talcott about my hunt yesterday, anyway.” 

“Master?” Noct echoed, amused, watching him lock up the workshop.

“Loremaster,” he confirmed with a grin. “That kid wants to know everything. And he’s well on his way - about the royal tombs anyway. He’s got all the hunters and the Crownsguard reporting to _him_ first and then the marshal after.”

“It’s seems like you’ve all really found your niche here, huh?” Noctis asked. There was something in his gaze, almost longing. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Talcott’s got the lore and Iris really found a place that fits her - and you’ve got your little repair shop. I guess you really see this place as home, right?”

He looked away as he locked the door closed. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a nice headquarters I guess,” he agreed, “somewhere nice to check in and lay your head to rest. But I wouldn’t call it home.”

“So, what’s home then?” Noct asked, his voice intense. 

“I don’t know…” he said evasively. Where had Iris gone off to? Okay, across the road getting ice cream. “I still want to go back to Insomnia one day. When we’ve dealt with the empire and it’s safe again.” He paused and gave Noct a smile as they exited the shop. “But hey, until then… I’m yours, right? My home is wherever you make it.”

Noct looked struck by the words, but when he opened his mouth to answer, Iris shoved a gelato cone in there. “You’ve gotta try these!”

“Thanks,” the king muttered, muffled by the icy treat - but not enough to disguise his annoyance. 

Prompto stifled a laugh. “They’re pretty good,” he offered with a goofy grin. He walked ahead of them, as Iris took Noct’s arm and rested her head on his shoulder. “You know, Noct. This almost feels like a date,” she hinted. 

The king was now choking on his ice cream. “What?” He hacked out. “No! Not at all.”

She huffed sulkily. “Would it kill you to play along for once?” She demanded. 

Prompto bit down on one knuckle and tried to suffocate a laugh. Poor Noct. Poor Iris. 

“Let’s see if the others are back,” she muttered, and quickened her step back to the hotel lobby. She paused on the steps and turned to the prince - Prompto pretended to be very busy reading a poster on the wall. “Thanks, Noct. I haven’t had fun like this since we were kids.”

“It’s hard work, babysitting. Better being the fellas next time.”

“What do you mean _babysitting_?” Iris demanded, upset. “Talk about ungrateful!” She stomped off towards the lobby. 

Prompto turned and gave Noct a look. “Dude. Haven’t you ever heard of letting a girl down easy?” He demanded. 

“What, Iris?” He asked, wiping his hands clean with a napkin. “Nah it’s cool.”

“It’s not cool, Noct,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “The whole Citadel knows she’s got a crush on you the size of Bahamut.”

Noctis looked uncomfortable. “No, I know that. I’m not oblivious. It’s just… she’s just…”

“What?” Prompto asked, curious. “She’s just a kid?”

“No. Well, I mean yeah, but that’s not what… she’s…”

“She’s..?” He prodded. 

“A girl,” the king mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Oh, you… Oh! Okay. Yeah I guess that would… Does she know? I mean, I can see why like, the public wouldn’t really be allowed to know. But you’ve told Iris, right?” He stumbled. Talk about awkward. 

“Yeah. Gladio told her after I drunkenly tried to make out with him on my eighteenth birthday. She knows.”

“Well, Good. I mean, cool. Uh. Yeah, it’s cool. I mean, proudly flying the bi flag myself so… yeah. It’s all good in the hood.”

“Thanks…” Noctis replied awkwardly. He reached out and put one hand on Prompto’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, before heading past him into the hotel.

***

Somehow, Prompto wasn’t really sure how, Iris had manoeuvred it so that he would be the one leading Noct and the guys to the tombs he’d scouted. 

They took out the Costlemark Dungeon and hey, he’d been right about daemons taking it. Or a daemon. A huge terrifying mega boss called the Jabberwock. When the beast dissolved, the Sword of the Tall was left behind. 

On their way back to the cave behind the waterfall, they stopped off in the Thommels Glade to the Tomb of the Just. As Noct was busy using glowy blue magic to take the shield, Prompto looked about the tomb. There were statues rendering a group of three men. Ignis came to stand by his side. 

“Queen Eirene the Just. These men are her queensguard. Bound to her in devotion and lifelong commitment,” he explained. 

Uh-oh. He knew those words. Did that mean he was going to end up stuffed in a tomb with Noct after their deaths? Not that he was exactly complaining. “But why are they in here? The Tomb of the Tall only had his Queen.”

“Well,” Ignis said, with the tone of someone who had an interesting tidbit of information to share. “Eirene’s queensguard were more to her majesty than they have been since her time. In her era, queens couldn’t marry, as it would mean her husband would outrank her. Instead, her retinue was devoted to her, and she was in turn faithful to them.” He pointed to the one in the centre. “Lord Paxiteles Amicitia, Shield of the Queen. Noct’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather. And Gladio’s as many greats granduncle.”

“You mean, she and him-” He made a helpless gesture between the statue and the sarcophagus. 

“Yes. Her king in all but name.” Ignis peered at him. “That is the nature of the oaths sworn - devotion and lifelong commitment. As close as marriage as he could swear.”

Prompto swallowed, feeling his stomach crawling up towards his throat. “Oh.” He looked up at the face of the statue. He remembered that now, the passage of the tome that Prompto had read his accidental oath in. “Did Noct consider that?” He asked, his voice weak. “You know. Since he’s…” He gave the same helpless gesture. “And he’s supposed to marry Lady Lunafreya.”

The chamberlain looked at him intently for a long moment. “He’s never mentioned as much to me,” he answered. “Gladio and I swore loyalty and commitment to Noct,” he answered. “And a king can only have three in his kingsguard.”

“Oh.” So he had sworn something the other two hadn’t. He turned to look at Noct, who was summoning his weapon. “What’s going on?”

“Imperial MTs, right outside,” Gladio announced. “We better move on.”

***  
TBC


	12. Crownsguard Prompto 6/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: Canonical character death. Mentioned and vaguely described physical and mental torture. Ardyn.

Prompto was pretty sure he’d never get warm again. This was the **twice** now he’d ventured into the glacial caves behind the waterfall, and he never wanted to experience cold again. But at least they had one more royal arm now. 

He stripped off the fur-filled parka and banished it into the armoury - one breath away from declaring delight at above-zero temperatures. And then Noct was crying out and gripping his head in pain. 

“Noct!” he cried, frantic, crowding him. “You okay?” 

“What did I….” the king breathed. “Where was that?” 

Prompto let himself be put aside. Gladio and Noct and Iggy whispered among each other - and then the latter spoke loud enough for him to hear: “You saw the Disc of Cauthess?” 

He wanted to ask for clarification - but then his phone was chiming repeatedly. It had reconnected to the network for the first time since they went in. “Huh.” Missed calls, texts from Talcott, a warning from his boss that some Imperials had come around asking about him. And last of all, a coded message from Iris that, when translated, said: 

RIP SOS. PN DANGER. U RE: LESTALLUM ASAP. SOLO.

“Something’s wrong in Lestallum,” he announced. “She says Noct is in danger, and I need to come back to Lestallum alone.” 

“What kind of danger?” Noct asked desperately. 

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “But it sounds bad.” 

“I think it is best we part ways for now,” Ignis said wisely. “We ought to find a way to get past the Imperial Blockade into Cauthess. And you are expected in Lestallum.” 

“We should stick together,” Noct insisted - but his voice was weak with pain from his headache. 

“Now is not the time. We’ll rendezvous when Prompto can be sure that the situation in Lestallum is secure,” Ignis disagreed. 

“We can’t be sure it’s not a trap,” Gladio replied. “We have to keep you away from Lestallum, highness.” It seemed to set in to Noct that Gladio was willingly letting someone else go in to take care of the danger his sister was in. 

“They’re right, Noct.” He said gently. “No matter what happens, wait until you hear from Hammerhead with the codeword Quicksilver. Any other communication from me or Iris is a trap. Got it?” 

“Prompto… you can’t-” 

“Clarus Amicitia charged me with with keeping them safe,” he said, standing up straight and giving him a determined look. “If they’re in danger now, it’s my responsibility to get them out of it.” Before Noct could argue, he took out a chocobo whistle and gave it a sharp blow. “We’ll see each other soon.” 

***

They crafted the escape plan carefully. Dustin and Monica took Lady Iris and Talcott in a new car at the dead of night. Prompto stayed behind with Jarred - since they knew they were both being monitored by the Imperial presence in the city. They’d go about as normal, leave it as long as possible for them to catch on that half their party had left. 

He got a call from Cidney a couple days later - the spare part she needed for their car was in Cape Caem, and could he make the pick-up for her? “Sure,” he answered, “but you’ll need to pay me in crowns.” Their code - she would let the prince’s retinue know the party had arrive safe. 

Then, during the night, he and Jarred tried to slip out of the city. They were ambushed on the way to the main road. 

  
Poor Talcott. He’d let slip that Jarred and Prompto had worked for the King’s Shield in Insomnia. The Imperials didn’t **know** that they’d made contact - they just wanted information on how to find the prince. 

When he refused to co-operate, they killed Jarred - and made Prompto watch. The ominous “Interrogate him next!” threat didn’t exactly come true. 

They’d just pinned him up and pointed their guns at him when the door was thrown open and a peculiar man swaggered in as if he owned the place. “Oh, hello Prompto,” he spoke, his voice warm and friendly as if they’d known each other for years. “I’ve just parted from your dear Noctis. He must be missing you.” 

“You know the prince?!” The guy in charge - Ulldor something - demanded. 

He scoffed and strained against the bindings as if he was bored. “As much as anyone else does. We went to school together.”

The red-haired man came forward, gripping his face in a hold that might have been tender, except he was hooking claw-like nails into his face. “Are you not his highness’s dear best friend since high school, so devoted to him he made you a part of his retinue?”

Best friend? He wished he had such a place in the king’s life. “Not even close,” he said.

“Hm.” He patted his cheek, the nails releasing to leave small specks of pain. “But you’re wearing your Crownsguard uniform, so you’re one of them.”

He shrugged as best as he could. “It was good money.” 

“Hm,” hands dove into his pockets, groping his flesh underneath until he found his phone. “I don’t believe you. I suspect if I dial his number he’ll answer within the first three rings.” He swiped through it. “You can go, Calligo. I’ll take over from here.”

***

He lost track of how long he was in the red man’s captivity for. He was some kind of daemon in human form. Somehow, he was able to come in wearing Noct’s face. He’d been fake ‘rescued’ a few times - enough times he knew the king would never come for him. The next times Ardyn attempted that, he’d just hung in the shackles and waited for him to give up and go away. 

Every day, Ardyn tried the phone to call Noct’s phone. And then one day the line connected. “Prompto.” That was Ignis’s voice. “Whatever had happened between you and his highness in high school, you need to cease this incessant attempt to resume contact with him.” 

Before Ignis had properly finished, Prompto felt a blade plunging into his gut - which he could’ve ignored, except for the electric shock began to tear through him from the wound. His screams echoed painfully across the room until it stopped. He panted desperately, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. 

But then he heard _his own voice_ , breathless and painful. “Ig-Ignis,” he gasped. “H-help.” 

He opened his eyes. Where Ardyn had been standing moments before, there was a perfect mirror of himself. He could do that _too_? 

“Prompto…?” 

Electricity jolted through Prompto’s body again and he screamed in pain. After that, Ardyn-Prompto hung up the phone again, before his body rippled and he was back to his normal self. 

“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding not sorry at all, as he pulled the blade back out. “Pain is the one emotion I can’t fake convincingly. It’s been far too long since I felt it.” 

Prompto gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain until the wash of a curative potion took it away. “Fuck you,” he spat. 

Ardyn patted his cheek again. “Don’t get so angry, little Empty. You’ll only wear yourself out faster.” He tucked the phone into his hand. “Do answer if he calls back. Tell him to come running to Zegnautus and save you faster.” 

***

When rescue finally came, he thought it was another trick. Not Noct this time, Ardyn had long since grown bored of that. No, this was a beautiful woman dressed in sexy black leather. She released the mechanisms holding him in place, one hand on a clear patch of his chest to stop him from falling onto his face. 

“Gods, look at the state of you,” she hissed, disgusted. She tugged his arms roughly into a military uniform, and clipped a helmet on his head. “I knew there was something just not right with the empire these days, but I can’t just stand by and watch this go on. He hasn’t been back in days…” 

He swirled in and out of consciousness, thirsty and hungry and pained. When an elixir cracked over him later, he was in the back of an airship. “H-huh? What’s going on…?” 

“I’m taking you back to Lucis, kid.” That was the woman again. “Your little prince can stop blowing up bases trying to get you back.” She crouched in front of him, handing him a canister of water. “Drink up. Anywhere in particular I can take you?” 

“S’desert,” he slurred, his tongue heavy and painful. “Big garage. Shaped like a Hammerhead.” 

“Gotchya.” 

~~~

Noct was watching his phone desperately. It had been too long since Prompto had attempted to call him. Since Ignis had answered and they got to listen to the sounds of Prompto being tortured with live electricity. Begging them for help. 

It had been a trap, of course it had been. But it had been so fucking hard to resist. 

He jumped when he heard his ringtone shriek. A part of him deflated when he saw it wasn’t Prompto’s number - but seeing as it was Cidney from Hammerhead, he answered it. She always had a treat for them when she sent them on errands. “Hey.” 

“Hey prince,” she said. There was something worried in her voice. “Paw-Paw said your upgrades on the Quicksilver pistol are done. Ready to come pick it up when you’re ready.” 

Noct froze. Quicksilver. That was the codeword Prompto had given him to listen out for. “Qui...Quicksilver huh,” he said, meeting Specs’ eyes over the table. “Been a while.” 

“Well, Paw-Paw says next time don’t bring it in such a roughed up condition next time,” she replied carefully. 

“We’re in Old Lestallum. We’ll be there soon.” As soon as the call ended, he shoved his plate away. “We gotta go.” 

“Noctis…” Ignis began carefully. 

“No, I don’t care. Gladio ditched us for his… whatever.” He stood up, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “I’m getting in that car now and driving to Hammerhead. You can come with me, or you can stay here. Either way I’m going.” 

“We’re meant to be going to the Vesperpool to find the mythril ore,” Ignis reminded him sternly. 

“Then since my Shield decided to leave, I’m collecting the third member of my retinue for my safety,” he deadpanned. “Are you in or out, Specs?”

***  
TBC


	13. Cross-Verse Prisoners 1/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:  
> Major character death straight up in the first few paragraphs.   
> Ardyn.   
> Two characters are forced to undress, wash, and kiss each other.

Noct held tight to Prompto, pulling him impossibly closer over his lap. “Just stay with me,” he begged. “Just a little longer.” 

“Noct,” he said weakly, knuckles straining to keep hold of his shredded sleeve. “Promise me?” 

He felt his eyes stinging, but he refused to let the tears to come out. “Yeah. Anything.” 

“You’ve gotta be happy, Noct. Okay?” He asked, giving him his usual sunny smile. It didn’t quite look right with blood in his teeth and tears leaking out his eyes. 

Noct felt his eyes spill over. He clutched the shirt tighter, pressed it harder against his stomach. “Prom…” 

“No,” he said emphatically, reaching up to touch his face with shaking hands. “You have to promise, ‘Kay? Cause all I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” His hand dropped down, too weak to hold up. “Even if it can’t be with me.” 

“Prompto, I…” 

“Don’t say it. Not now.” He seized up with pain and slumped weakly. “I don’t think I could hear it, and go.” 

He pressed their foreheads together, trying to fight off the sobs that wanted to wrack his frame. “Okay. But you know what I wanted to say, right? You have to know.” 

“I know,” he reassured him. “Gods, it’s so cold.” 

Noct squeezed his eyes shut, for just a moment. “Could you tell me? Before… before. I just want to hear it. One time.” 

“Are you sure you can bear it?” He asked, head lolling a bit to try and bring his eyes into focus on Noct’s face. 

“I can. Please. Please just tell me, even if it’s not true,” he whispered. 

Prompto smiled weakly and rested his hands on top of Noct’s. “I don’t know what I was afraid of, why I didn’t tell you before,” he said with a painful but sincere smile. “I lo-” 

An explosive noise tore past his ear, and Noct felt hot, coppery liquid splatter over his face and into his mouth. There was screaming nearby and it took him a long moment to realise it was him and he was able to stop. 

“Oh dear,” a mocking voice said from behind him. “Did I ruin the moment?” 

He turned around, hatred twisting up his face. “You!” He snarled. “What did he ever do to you?” 

The man with the red hair and the golden eyes just smiled. “Oh, him? Nothing. I already had my revenge on him last time. No, you idiot boy. This was about torturing you.” 

“Me?” He demanded. “What did I do?” 

“You in particular? Nothing. Not this time.” He was wearing a demented sort of grin. 

“You monster!” Noct screamed, still cradling the body against his chest. “You’re a fucking monster!” 

The man grinned and leaned in, his teeth almost terrifyingly sharp. “You have no idea.” 

He raised a gun up to his head and shot - but instead of dying, his face began to leak disgusting black ick. He grabbed tight onto Noct’s arm, tossing Prompto aside like he was a doll. He ick dripped all over Noct, and onto the ground. As it began to eat at the cement weird shadowy things gathered around them and swirled until Noct was sinking through the vortex. 

He landed roughly on stone ground, and the hand on his arm dragged him up onto his feet. He was pulled along, feet barely skating the flagstone corridor as the monster pulled. 

He was dragged down winding stairs and tossed in… yep, this was definitely a dungeon. The cell clanged shut behind him, and he raised himself up on one elbow to glare at the man through the bars. “I’ll leave you hear alone with your thoughts,” he said with a cruel smile. Then he turned and wandered off. 

*** 

He must’ve slept, because eventually it was morning. Sun leaked through the barred window, high up on the wall. It lit up the cell, and he saw the place he was imprisoned. There was a bunk bolted to the wall, made with a thin mattress and a rough woollen blanket. Next to it there was a basic metal toilet and a sink with a dull metal mirror. He got up onto numb feet and crossed to it. He looked like an extra from a horror more, face covered in black ick and the brown of dried blood. 

Prompto’s blood. 

“Oh gods,” he choked. He turned the water on and began scrubbing his face clean. It was freezing and his skin hurt from the force he was using but eventually he wasn’t covered in Prompto’s blood any more. 

Once he was done, he went to sink onto the edge of the bed. Across the wall from him was a set of bars, showing into the cell next door. It was a mirror of his, and across the way there was another bed. Dimly lit in the grey light of the cells, he could make out someone lying under the threadbare blanket. 

He jolted up when he recognised that face. A face he thought he’d never get to see again. “Prompto?!” He cried, racing to the bars. 

A confused frown puckered between the blond eyebrows. Gods, that look… Prompto always gave it when he was fast asleep and dreaming, but there was something trying to wake him up. 

“Prompto, Oh gods!” 

One eye creaked open, and then he was sitting up in a flash. “Noct!” He raced to the bars… but as he reached them, hands clenching around the metal beneath Noct’s fists, they both realised. “Oh…” 

This wasn’t the real Prompto. He was younger, the stressed lines around his eyes gone - the pattern of freckles on his face different than Noct had long since memorised. 

“You’re not my Noct,” he said quietly, sounding as disappointed and grief-stricken as Noct felt. His eyes were looking deep into his, and one hand slid down the bar. “You’re not Ardyn either, are you?” He asked curiously. “His eyes are always dead inside. And he’s never messed up the colour.” 

“The colour?” Noct asked, suspiciously. “What’s wrong with my eye colour?!” 

“It’s not red,” Prompto said, shrugging. “My Noct’s eyes always turned red out of the sun.” 

“What, like some kind of vampire?” Noct demanded dubiously. 

“Well he didn’t drink blood. It had to do with the magic of the crystal I think.” He shrugged. “I’m not your Prompto either, huh?” 

“What crystal?” He asked. “What are you even talking about? How can I be a different Noctis? What’s going on?” 

“Ardyn didn’t feel like monologuing with you, huh?” He sighed and went over to sit on the bunk in his cell. Noct did the same, folding his arms over his chest and waiting for an explanation. “Okay. So I don’t know everything. Only what I’ve picked up.” 

“Just get on with it.” He didn't like talking to this fake Prompto. Wearing the face of his newly deceased best friend. 

Prompto sighed. “Okay so. Step one: the multiverse is real. Wrap your head around that! Next, Ardyn - the red haired guy? - is an undying dude or daemon thing who crosses between the different dimensions every time he… well, as close as he comes to dying.” 

“Dude, what?” He asked in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

He shrugged. “Well. How did he get here?” He replied. 

Noct paused and then shuddered as he remembered. “Okay. You might have something with that last part.” 

Prompto just laughed slightly. “He’s on some kind of vengeance shtick. He tells me he k… what he did in my verse, because of something I did in another one. Or, another Prompto I guess. But his main game is against the Lucis Caelums.” 

Noctis frowned, uncrossing his arms. “Why?” He asked dully. 

“No idea,” he replied. “He’ll probably taunt you about it at some stage.” He waved around their cells. “This place - this verse or whatever, it could just be only this castle? This is where he comes to heal until his next verse.” 

“How long have you been here?” Noct demanded. 

Prompto shrugged. “Couple months or so? I think you were his next verse after mine. Makes sense why he brought you here - he made it sound like he doesn't usually keep people alive to make prisoners.” 

“This is crazy,” Noctis said. But he couldn’t really deny it. Not with a mirror of his best friend alive and whole across from him. 

“Yeah. You’re not wrong about that.” He stood and stretched, his shirt raising up a little to show a toned, flat stomach. “Here.” He grabbed something from his sink and held it out through the bars towards Noct. “We’ll get food once a day. But if you get thirsty…” 

He approached carefully, taking the metal mug out of his grip. “Thanks…” 

He gave him a smile. “Yeah. No big.” It was so achingly familiar. His Prompto had always given him the same look. He turned away to get himself a drink from the tap. It tasted like rust, but at least he didn’t have to look at him again. 

*** 

He’d been having a nice dream. He’d taken Prompto to the beach again, but unlike the real memory, once the sun had gone down they were kissing and grinding against each other on the sand. 

He woke up, felt something cold blowing across his face. When he opened his eyes, Prompto was sitting on the ground next to him. “Having a good dream?” 

He almost believed it for just a moment. It was his Prompto, the same smile wrinkles around his eyes, the exact pattern of freckles. But his smirk was cruel, and his eyes were hollow and lifeless. He jolted up and pressed his back into the wall. “Ardyn!” he hissed. 

The man, still wearing his best friend’s face, leaned back on his hands. “The one and the same. How did you enjoy your first week in my hospitality?” 

“It leaves much to be desired,” he deadpanned, lifting the blanket to cover his chest as if that would help. 

“That’s not very kind of you.” 

“Neither is shooting my best friend in cold blood and imprisoning me in your dungeon!” he snarled back. 

Ardyn only laughed, and thankfully it sounded nothing like his Prompto’s. “Up you get. The other residents are complaining that you’re stinking up the dungeons.” 

“The other residents?” He asked suspiciously. 

“The daemons, my dear boy. And if the demons are telling you that you stink, you know the problem is bad.” He stood in a fluid movement that wasn’t exactly human, and was nothing like his clumsy Prompto. “Come along then.” 

The facade melted away as he walked to the open door of the cell. In the one next door, Prompto - the other one, a real one but not his one - was leaning up against his cell door. His forehead was pressed to one of the bars, his wrists pressed through and chained around the outside. 

Noct felt shackles materialise around his wrist before he could think anything more about it, joined together by a single chain that had another leashed to it - the other held in one of Ardyn’s hand. He unlocked Prompto’s cell and brought the other prisoner out - in glowing red light another chain connected their shackles together in one line. 

“Is this really necessary?” He grumbled. 

“Oh no. I could easily stop you if you tried to run or attack,” Ardyn said pleasantly. 

“Then what’s the point?” 

“I like to watch you degraded, my boy.” 

Noct didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply to that. They were led to a locker-room style shower block, and chained under a single head. With a snap of their captor’s fingers, icy cold water began to fall on them both. He cried out in shock at it, but Prompto only winced and reached to adjust the taps until it was warmer. 

“What about our clothes?” Noct demanded. 

“What indeed.” Ardyn laughed to himself and tossed a pair of fabric scissors to the ground before their feet. Prompto’s were bare, but he was still wearing his Chucks. “Go on then.” 

“What the fuck?” Noct demanded. 

But Prompto was already kneeling down, straining against the shackles, to pick up the scissors. He began to cut at one of his sleeves. 

“Uh-Uh-Uh, my little Empty.” Prompto flinched at his words. “Did you not swear to protect and serve your prince?” 

Prompto gave him an apologetic look, and then raised the little pair of scissors to begin snipping through the fabric. Noct just closed his eyes, humiliated and embarrassed. Once the sleeves and shoulders were cut through, Prompto’s hand tugged the rest off down his hips and let them fall to a sopping pile at their feet. 

“Now, Prince Noctis. Don’t you want to return the favour to your dear, beloved best friend?” Ardyn taunted. 

“Fuck off,” he snarled. 

“Manners, my dear boy. And you seem to have misinterpreted that as a suggestion. Take the scissors and cut off the Empty’s shirt, or we’ll see how long it takes for starvation to make you compliant.” 

“Just do it,” Prompto whispered, pressing the handle of the scissors into his grip. “That’s not an empty threat. He will starve you.” 

Swallowing down his anger, Noct opened his eyes so he could see what he was doing as he cut through the shoulders of Prompto’s sleeveless shirt. As soon as it was done, the scissors vanished from his grip. 

“See how much smoothly these things go if you simply co-operate? Here is your soap.” A single bottle of shower gel and one washcloth was tossed to the ground between them. 

Prompto turned away as much as the shackles would allow - half at most, to unbutton, shimmy and finally step out of his jeans. He left his boxers on at least. Noct did the same, kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks. He used the cloth first, washing down his front and legs and giving the area beneath his boxers a quick, cursory wash, before he rinsed the cloth and handed it to Prompto. 

Ardyn spoke again, once the blond must have been finished. “Good. Now. You’d better wash his back, Empty.” 

“What?” Prompto croaked. His first protest. 

“Is that an argument I hear?” Ardyn asked in a sing-song voice. 

“No,” Prompto mumbled. He sighed and Noct could hear him shuffling around. He flinched when the cloth touched his back, but made himself keep still. 

“No, not like that. You’ll never get a thorough clean. Turn to face each other and put your arms around each other’s shoulders.” 

Prompto made a soft whimper of denial, but moved to do as instructed. Noct squeezed his eyes closed but complied. Prompto’s shoulders were familiar, after how many drunken nights stumbling home draped over his Prompto’s arms, curling up with him on bed, nights playing games or watching movies on the house where personal space became a long-forgotten mystery. The washcloth was soft against his skin, he almost wished this Prompto was rough with it. 

He hated himself. Hated the proximity and the heat of Prompto’s mostly naked body against his and the lingering remnants of the dream for the situation in his soaked briefs. He didn’t know if it was mortifying or reassuring to feel Prompto had the exact same issue, pressing occasionally into his thigh as he reached around him to wash his back. 

When Prompto pressed the washcloth into his hand, he lathered it up again and started cleaning as perfunctorily as he could. Not thinking about whose skin it was or whose body he had to press up against to get the shackles to stretch far enough to reach. When it was done he dropped the cloth like it burned, listening to it slap against the tiles. 

“Very good,” Ardyn said with a dark chuckle. “Now. Why don’t you thank your prince for washing you, Empty? Give him a kiss.” 

Prompto reared back in shock. “No! Ardyn, please - you can’t…!” 

“I can,” their captor said calmly. “The two of you will stay chained together in that shower until I see appropriate gratitude from you both.” When Noct turned to look at him in disbelief, he expected to see some sort of sick pleasure in his face. But Ardyn only looked bored, inspecting his nails. “I have eternity, but how long do you two have until the water runs cold? Pneumonia can be so unpleasant.” 

Noct just squeezed his eyes shut. “Let’s just do it,” he muttered. “Get it over and done with.” 

Prompto exhaled shakily, but closed his eyes. He leaned close, lips thinning slightly. Noct tried hard not to think about it, keeping his eyes open long enough to get his aim right and then squeezing them closed. It was only a press of lips held tightly closed, but Noct hated how intimate it was. He’d never gotten to kiss his Prompto, outside of a game of truth or dare in their freshman year. 

“Hm. That’ll do, since you’re still getting to know each other,” Ardyn said, clicking again and turning the water off. “Later I shall expect to see more willingness.” 

They had to walk naked and dripping with water back to their cells. Once there they had coarse towels and a fresh change of clothes. Prompto’s looked exactly the same, even down to the ceourl pattern on his jeans - but Noct’s were new and strange. A black tee with skull patterns, made out of impossibly soft cotton, and a pair of black cargo-like shorts that cinched around his calves under his knees. 

They ignored each other while they were changing - but once Prompto spotted him, he gave a wounded noise and turned away. He seemed to be trying to control himself, hands clenching into fists and releasing several times at his sides. When he spoke, it was decidedly calm. “Hang your towel and wet jocks through the bars on your door. They’ll get collected overnight.” 

Noct grunted in reply. After he did that, the two of them lay on their bunks, facing the walls, so they didn’t have to look at one another. 


	14. Post-Apocalypse Shelter 1/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: character death, depression including suicidal thoughts.

The world ended on a Tuesday. One minute Prompto was picking up a new lens for his camera, the next minute the streets were flooded with creatures of darkness and nightmares the man with the red hair on every screen in the city called daemons. He hid in the ceiling ducts until the horrible screaming of people and the otherworldly noises of the things drifted further down the block. 

He stole guns and all the ammo he could carry, loaded up boot of a car he hotwired with canned goods and hiking gear. On his way out of the city, a beautiful blond girl who seemed to glow with light, stopped in front of his car. Her face was familiar - and then he spotted it on every other billboard as he screeched through the back streets towards the wall. 

Her name was Lunafreya Nox Flauret, and she died two months later. Not from the daemons - no, they couldn’t seem to touch her. Their base camp was infiltrated by ‘Hunters’ and the arrow in her chest bloomed red over her stained white dress. 

She pressed something into his hand and gave him a weak smile. He buried her in one of the old King’s Tombs. He thought it was fitting. 

Wintertime came eventually. His clothes, already illfitting, were threadbare. He was pretty sure he was going to die, but that only made him more desperate to press on. 

He made his way back to the city, with two cans of fuel he got in exchange for promising to raid the drugstore too. 

All the frozen meat he could find that hadn’t gone bad, stuffed in ice chests. Tinned food and non-perishables. The entire contents of two drugstores, one for the babe at the gas station and the other to trade. He raided a lifestyle store, grabbed hiking gear built for snowy mountains. More ammo. 

She offered to let him stay, let him warm her bed maybe, definitely share his resources. But he remembered Lunafreya’s laugh, the soft touch of her lips, her body trembling against his at night when the daemons were most active. He set out alone again. 

In the height of winter, he realised this way of living just wasn’t sustainable. He called bullshit on the movies of people surviving or planning to survive the apocalypse in bomb shelters. 

Or maybe that was his mistake. Not having an established haven with a close-knit group of survivors with evenly distributed skills, and non-perishables stocked up until forever. He was alone, and he was a good shot, and he still dreamed of Lunafreya’s smile, and he really hated tinned baked beans. 

It’s a blizzard, he thought. Weather too wild for even the daemons to venture out. He was freezing, arms wrapped around himself as if that would possibly help keep him warm as the wind blew icy shards of air through the fabric of his parka. If he had feet still, that would surprise him, he was pretty sure he was just walking around on the frozen clumps of his ankles. The sled around his waist was tied high with three ice chests - what was left of the meat, perishable goods, and medical supplies. He’d never been more grateful he didn’t have diabetes or asthma or some other thing that required constant medication of death. (He’d run out of his prescription months ago but he was mostly okay). There was a bunch more supplies in the car, but he’d look for that in the spring if he lived through it. 

He tripped. It was probably a bad sign that the snowbank felt warm around him. At least the wind wasn’t blowing from all sides under the snow. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “What a way to go.”

He tugged out his phone, squeezed the power button and watched the half-full battery flash up before it booted on. A new voice note, his voice croaky and sore: “There’s a van three miles south of the big broken sign to the chocobo farm. It’s full of medical supplies. Cindy at Hammerhead will trade with you, if you can get there.” He broke off, coughing until his vision was just sparkles. “I’m sorry, Luna. I couldn’t do it.”

He hung up the recording, deleted all the other shortcuts on his home screen and left the voice notes in a folder labelled ‘listen to me’. Then he turned the phone back off, shoved it back in the waterproof bag, and forced himself to get back up on his feet. 

Inside his glove, he clenched his palm around Lunafreya’s last gift. This was for her. He was going on for her. 

***

He woke up somewhere warm, but his feet felt like someone had set them on fire. He screamed in pain, sitting up and trying to tuck them up. But someone strong was holding them still - and the yelling sunk in. 

“Keep them in the goddamn hot water! Do you want to lose your toes?”

He was...Somewhere new. There were his ice chests, stacked against the wall, shamelessly pilfered through. He supposed be couldn’t begrudge Muscles that. Given he’d just saved his life. He was naked, but the room outside the sleeping bag he was piled under was gloriously warm. The general lack of windows and the slight roundness of the upper walls told him he was in some kind of underground shelter. But the walls were finished with brightly polished wood, the furniture sturdy but luxurious. 

“Not that I’m not grateful but… who the fuck are you and what’s going on?” He asked, trying to flex his toes. 

“Gladio,” he grunted. “You fell on one of the solar panels. Brought you down here to fix you up. How long have you been out in the snow?” 

“How long has it been winter for?” He deadpanned. 

The guy - Gladio - didn’t answer. Just got to his feet with a surprising amount of grace for all his bulk. “I’m gonna bring you some soup. Keep your feet in water bath, got it?” 

On the third day, he was allowed to leave the room. The bomb shelter was more like a doomsday house, under the ground. Someone had been prepared. Everything was toasty warm - “built on top of a hot spring, the steam acts as a sort of radiator” - and comfortably panelled. If it weren’t for the lack of windows he’d probably feel like he was in a fancy house. There was a big family room, where he came across and was introduced to “my sister Iris, Jarred, his grandson Talcott, Monica and Dustin”. They were playing some kind of card game and extracted a promise from him to play with them when he was feeling better. A bathroom - “we have to boil the water though so, hot baths only” - a room bolted firmly shut Gladio called “the underground garden. Keep your paws off.” The kitchen was warm and smelled delicious, cured meats and bunches of herbs and vegetables hanging from hooks all over the ceiling. “This is Ignis, our resident chef. Don’t hit on him, he’s only agreed to be my boyfriend last month.” A gym that stunk of sweat, where a middle aged man was pumping irons, “That’s Cor. Ignore the scowl - he doesn’t like being cooped up. When it’s Spring he’ll be out of here again.” The last stop, when Prompto was feeling ready to drop, was a bedroom. “You’ll be in here with us,” he explained. “Iggy and I share the queen. Talcott sometimes has the trundle but I guess you can claim it as yours now, he has a bed of his own in with Iris and Jarred and all them anyway.” The ‘all them’ he figured was Dustin and Monica and maybe Cor too. Hey, look at him, remembering names. He wanted to ask about the double bed, and who got that if he had to be relegated to the pull-out bed. But he was too tired to think. 

He muttered his thanks to Gladio, checked his drawstring bag was still tucked against his chest, and went back to sleep. 

***

The lump in the double bed occasionally moved and was called Noctis. He wasn’t sure if it was physical illness or nocturnal sleeping patterns or hibernating or just depression napping - which, honestly, had been a _big fucking mood_ in his teenage years until he found out he could run until he was in too much pain to feel anything else and the endorphins took care of the rest. They had a treadmill in the gym which he started using as soon as he had enough energy to stay out of bed most of the day. 

Anyway, the Noctis lump. Sometimes the scruffy black inu dog slept curled up beside him. Three times a day, Ignis attempted to coax him out with food, before the plate of whatever it was got picked clean with fingers that poked out from under the blankets. Gladio tried to encourage him to work out in the gym with him, or help him in the garden. Iris and Talcott would climb on the bed and chatter away with pretty much no input until they left with sadness in the girl’s eyes. 

It was a good few weeks until he saw the Noctis lump outside of the bed. Even if it was only for a few brief minutes as he got up to shuffle into the bathroom. Noctis was skinny, about Prompto’s height, with wild black hair and an unfairly beautiful face. He gave Prompto a confused look in the dim light of the nightlamp, almost as if he couldn’t recall what he was doing there, as he came back and climbed into the bed. 

It was a week or so after that before he actually heard the guy speak - and to him. “Who are you?” He demanded, his voice surprisingly deep and pleasant-sounding. 

“Prompto,” he answered. “Gladio saved me from the snow.”

There was a mutter of something that sounded like ‘he shouldn’t have’. “We’re crowded enough as it is, in here.” He added, loud enough to be heard. 

“I’ll be gone when the snow thaws,” he promised. And back then he had even meant it too. 

“Whatever,” Noctis muttered. “What’s one more person in hell?”

***

The urge to curl up and die lingered in the back of his head. He didn’t know where the door to the surface was - he suspected it might be out of the garden - so he told himself walking out into the snow wouldn’t work. But he knew none of these people would coddle him like they did Noctis, so staying in bed forever wouldn’t work for him either. He started dissecting his meals, calorie counting every morsel of food he let pass his lips, and counteracting it with hours on the treadmill. 

At night he curled up under his sleeping bag, clutched his drawstring bag to his chest, and waited for Ignis and Gladio to fall asleep. Wanking along to their fucking had lost his interest weeks ago. 

He missed his serotonin reuptake inhibitors. He missed them so fucking much. He missed that help in balancing out his brain so that routine and endorphins and positive thinking was enough to get him through the days. 

And then one morning he woke up and just didn’t have the energy to move. He told himself repeatedly he was going to get up and go for breakfast. But the message seemed to get lost somewhere between his brain and his body. _Come on_ , he tried to coax himself. But instead he turned over, squeezed his eyes shut, and went back to sleep. When he woke up, he was too heavy to do much more than stretch his legs out from their curled position and wonder when the little black dog had tucked into his cheek. 

Thoughts swirled around his mind, slow and sticky. Wintertime had always been hard. Sometimes his parents had forgotten to pay the heating and his house was so cold. And then there was Shiva’s Day, having to listen to all the kids at school excitedly talk about their plans with their family for weeks leading up to it. And then spending the day usually dedicated to gathering friends and family around to observe the longest night, as alone as he always did. He was alone, and he would always be alone. 

He’d had Lunafreya for a time, but the gods had seen fit to take her from him too. Oh, Luna. He felt tears leaking out of his eyes, staining the pillow, but he didn’t even have it in him to properly cry. He fell asleep, dreaming of kissing her under the stars at Galdin Quay, the lights of the resort town enough to keep the daemons at bay. They should’ve stayed there - but she was always searching, looking for something in the wilds. 

He woke up to the feeling of a gentle hand on his forehead. But didn’t bother opening his eyes. “No fever,” that was Ignis’s voice. It was gentle, kind almost. Sort of how he imagined a parent’s should be. Not that he knew. 

A hand gently carded through his hair until he opened his eyes, glaring fuzzily at Ignis. The room swayed a bit, sparks dancing in his eyes. Hunger clenched his stomach in tight claws, a growl announcing it to the room. 

Ignis didn’t scold him, just put a bowl of sweet potato fries onto the pillow beside him. “Here,” he said gently. “Please eat. I’ll be back to collect the bowl later.”

They were crisp and sweet and perfectly seasoned, but they tasted like ash in his mouth. He promised himself one or two but then he was reaching into the bowl and they were all gone. Ashamed of himself, he tucked onto his side, adjusted his pillows, and prepared to go back to sleep. 

Noctis was staring at him in concern from up on the bed. Prompto just looked up at him blankly, until it was just too much effort to keep his eyes open. He let them drift shut again, ignoring the gorgeous blues locked on his face. 

When he woke up again, his back hurt. It was dark, only the nightlamp in the hallway casting light through the gap under the door. He stretched a little, turned onto his side, cracked his back, and settled down to sleep again. But it was a long time coming. 

In the morning, well, he figured it was morning, he woke up to the sound of talking from the doorway. “He has no physical illness,” that was Ignis’s voice. 

“Come on, Igs, you know what this is. It’s not like we don’t see it every day.” 

Someone sighed. He wasn’t sure who. Then Ignis poke again: “we know what techniques _work_ for Noct, how far we can push him. Prompto is a stranger.” 

“It could just be a bad day,” Gladio said, “he used to have them. Just one-offs. Before…” 

“I recall.” Ignis sighed. “You suggest we wait and see if it clears up on its own?” 

“Just till this afternoon.” 

The door closed again and footsteps retreated. Prompto shifted, trying to stretch his back out again. He should get up, he was only hurting himself staying in the trundle bed. But even as he spoke to himself about it, the indifference of his body didn’t care. 

“What were you on?” 

He opened his eyes, meeting Noctis’s. The guy was sitting at the edge of the bed, the dog’s head in his lap. One hand was idly running through the fur on his back, but his gaze didn’t stray from Prompto’s face. Prompto closed his eyes again, didn’t answer. Didn’t bother. 

“I was on Fetzima - Levomilnacipran,” he replied. “Hated what it did to my dick. But I’d give boners away again to be able to get out of bed every day without it being all the energy I have.” 

“Lexapro,” he replied. “Left my dick alone.” 

“Bet your girlfriend was happy about that.” 

“H-huh?” He echoed, opening his eyes again. 

“Lunafreya. You say her name in your sleep sometimes.” 

He winced and curled up tighter around himself. “D...don’t.” 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Did she… you know, with the first wave?” 

“Hunters,” he replied, reaching under his pillow to clutch at the drawstring bag. “I didn’t meet her until after. She was so good, so beautiful. But she wasn’t mine.” 

“Didn’t mean you loved her any less.” Noctis’s voice was soft, understanding. 

“Yeah.” 

Noctis stood, the dog getting dislodged with a grumpy growl. “You shouldn’t stay on the trundle. Thing’s a nightmare on your back.” Gentle hands coaxed him up, practically man-handling him over to the double bed. How was Noctis so strong? Or did he just weigh nothing? “Don’t worry about Specs and Gladio. Take your own time.” 

“Why are you helping me?” Prompto mumbled, curling up around the dog when it tucked into his stomach. “You don’t even know me, don’t even like me.” 

“I like you just fine,” Noctis replied calmly. “It’s all good, Prompto. Try not to worry about it.” He tugged the blanket up over Prompto’s shoulders and quietly stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.


	15. Cross-Verse Prisoners 2/?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Ardyn is a fucking creeper.  
> Non-consensual kissing, accidental boners and frottage.

An MT showed up to take them to the shower. They weren’t even chained up this time. Dressed and back in their usual outfits, Noct sat on the other side of the bars and stuck his hand through, playing Slaps with Prompto. 

“So, Ardyn’s moved on, huh?” Noct asked, twitching his hand back as Prompto slapped down in the space where his hand had been moments before. 

“Guess so,” Prompto answered, twitching his hand forward in a feint. “It was the other MTs looking after me last time. When he was off at yours.”

“I could get used to showering with my hands free,” Noct muttered, wincing as Prompto’s fingers slapped over his. 

“Yeah, that’s always a bonus,” Prompto said, switching the positions of their hands so he was on the bottom. 

He raised his eyes to the blond, whose gaze was intent on his hand. “Is it weird I miss the kiss though?”

Prompto tensed, fingers trembling slightly. He took a deep breath. “Little weird,” he agreed. “But it’s routine, right? Something like Stockholm’s, maybe. I think that can happen, when there’s multiple people in together.” He paused and wrapped around the bar beside Noct’s hand. “But I miss it too,” he mumbled. “So we’re in it together.”

Noct slid his fingers down the bar, until his fingertips brushed Prompto’s knuckle. “What if we kissed now?” He whispered. “When it was our choice, not Ardyn telling us what to do.”

A freckled finger hooked through his, squeezing a moment. “Were you with him? Your Prompto?” He asked, not meeting his eyes. 

Noct felt lead sink in his stomach, and he pulled his hands back through the bars. “I don’t wanna talk about him.”

“If you wanna kiss me, you have to,” he said, sitting back from the bars. “Because I have his face. And if you kiss me, I know deep down you’ll be thinking about him. Cause I’ll be thinking about Noct.”

Hurt, angry, and stinging because he knew it was true, he stood up and headed to his bunk. “You won that game.”

“Told ya. You can’t beat me at Slaps.” Prompto headed over to the back of the cell, where he couldn’t see him any more. “Better luck next time.”

  


It was the next day when they spoke again. Prompto was doing crunches in his underwear, and Noct was trying hard not to admire him. 

“He was my best friend,” he found the words slipping out of his tongue. “We never dated each other, but we never dated other people either. I only kissed him once, at a party on a dare. But I loved him, and I was gonna ask him to marry me after he graduated from college. He was studying photography - he was a real artist with a camera. He could see beauty in things I don’t even notice.” He shuddered and curled up around his knees. “Ardyn shot him. He died in my arms before he could finish saying ‘I love you’.”

Prompto had stopped, looking at him sadly through the bars. He dried himself off with a towel and then pulled his shirt on. He came to sit by the bars, back facing Noctis. “He was a prince. Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, the one hundred and fourteenth king of Lucis.” His hands fiddled with the frayed edge of his shirt. “I was just a commoner. An illegal refugee, technically. Adopted by a family in Insomnia.” He leaned his head back, blond hair mashing up against the bars. “We went to school together. He was my best friend, at least during high school, and after. He made all the time for me he could. I joined his Crownsguard so I could be with him as much as I could.” He fiddled with the knuckles of his fingers. “He was everything to me. And then the empire - Niflheim - arranged him a marriage with Lady Lunafreya to make a peace treaty. We thought everything was going fine.” His hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt. “Ardyn killed them on their wedding day. Slaughtered them on the altar. Turned daemons on the guests. But he made me live through it, made me see it all.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Why did he do that? Why would he do that _to you_?”

“Other than the fact he’s a total asshole?” Prompto deadpanned. “Nah he… he said something about payback for ten thousand years stuck in The Keep because of me. Not sure what that was about but…” He shrugged. “Part of me always knew I would lose Noct. I just… wish it could have been to his royal duties. So I could at least pretend he was out there living his happy life.”

“Did you ever tell him?” Noct asked quietly, watching for every shift of muscle in Prompto’s shoulders. “Tell him how you felt?”

“No,” he said quietly. “It would only have ruined our friendship. Nothing could have come out of telling him. Even _if_ he miraculously returned my feelings, he was going to be king one day. It was hard enough for him to find the space for me in his life as his friend, with all his princely duties and the royal council blocking the unsuitability of it at every term. I can’t even imagine the shit storm if he wanted to date me.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t love you,” Noct said quietly. He couldn’t imagine a world, a version of him that didn’t love Prompto. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, defeated. “He’s gone. He’s dead. And he’s never coming back.”

Noct headed over to press a comforting hand on Prompto’s back. But that’s all he did. 

***

Imprisonment was so much boredom. By the time - well, Prompto said it was a month so he took his word for it - a month had passed, he was almost grateful to see Ardyn swaggering down the hallway. He was a mess of black ick again, but grinning victoriously. 

“Oh, great. Who did you torture this time?” He muttered, when the red-haired man stopped at the cell door and scraped claws across it. 

“Torture isn’t particularly my style, only vengeance.” The man leaned his face close, golden eyes inside dripping black sclera. “I just had a couple special cases. Now here we are.” He laughed to himself. “Are you enjoying your stay?” He mocked. 

“You should update your entertainment itinerary,” he deadpanned. “It’s lacking.”

Ardyn grinned, fanged teeth dripping with blackened saliva. “I apologise from the very bottom of my heart, Highness,” he said, his voice sugary sweet. “I can provide you a board game, or perhaps a deck of cards,” he said. “But of course I would expect something in exchange.” 

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Prompto shaking his head at him frantically, mouthing ‘ _don’t!_ ’. Noct ignored him, getting to his feet. He stood in front of the door, meeting Ardyn’s eyes defiantly. “Like what?”

“All in good time, my dear boy. I promise it will be nothing that causes you pain.” He held up his hands, a pack of playing cards held in between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you say?”

“It won’t hurt me?” He clarified. 

“Not at all.”

“Or Prompto?”

Ardyn laughed. “Oh, clever, _clever_ boy. No, Highness. It won’t hurt your dear little Empty either.”

Noct reached through the bars and snatched the playing cards out of his hands. “Deal.”

Ardyn grinned victoriously and tucked his hands behind his back. “Now don’t even attempt to back out of it later, when you learn my price. The cost of betraying your word will come much sharper than the simple removal of your deck.” He turned and walked back down the hallway, humming a pleasant tune to himself. 

“That was really fucking stupid,” Prompto said, once the sound of his footsteps no longer echoed through the halls. 

“It’s a deck of playing cards, how bad can it be?” He came over to sit by the bars dividing them. “Speed or Poker?”

***

Ardyn returned the next day, grinning like the cat that ate the canary and then coughed half of it back up into its owner’s favourite shoes. “I think it’s about time for a shower, don’t you?” He said, smug. 

Prompto gave Noct a wary look but stood, putting his hands through the door to let them be shackled together. The usual chained parade happened and once they were in the shower, Ardyn slid them the scissors. 

Noct hadn’t missed this, he really preferred the autonomy of undressing and bathing himself. He reached for his own fly, when Ardyn interrupted. “Uh-Uh-Uh! Today you’re going to help each other out of _all_ of your clothes.”

Prompto winced, closing his eyes as he reached forward to undo Noct’s fly and help him step out of his cargos. The blond’s jeans were significantly more difficult to get him out of, but eventually they were both standing there in their underwear. Prompto reached for the shower taps, avoiding Noct’s eyes. 

“Uh-Uh-Uh~” Ardyn said, sounding almost gleeful with amusement. “I said **all** of them.”

“No, dude, wait,” Prompto said. “I didn’t agree to this!”

“Your dear prince did. So undress each other as I command and I will not bring down a punishment on you both for this hesitance.”

That was definitely an ‘I told you so!’ look on the blond’s face. His jaw gritted tightly as he reached to pull down Noct’s briefs. Noct tried to stay as indifferent as possible as he undressed Prompto too. 

But then they had to wash each other’s backs, and the reaction he _always_ had in the shower wasn’t hidden behind his underwear any more. Not that they hadn’t been _obvious_ before, but at least they could pretend they were ignoring it. His breathing was harsh as he felt the shift of Prompto against him, and he squeezed his eyes against the feeling. 

Prompto dropped the washcloth as soon as they were done, trying to turn away from him quickly. 

“Was that so hard, boys?” He asked. The snicker that followed showed him the double meaning was on purpose. “Now. All you need to do is kiss and then you can return to to your rooms.”

Noct winced. He’d forgotten about that. Since the MT had taken over their jailor, they hadn’t been. He pressed forward, mouth sealed in a tight line, to awkwardly press his against Prompto’s similarly unwelcoming pair. 

“I think you can do better than that.” 

“Fuck you,” Prompto muttered. He looked at Noct for permission then pressed forward, pressing their lips together in a messy, desperate kiss. 

He melted into it, he probably shouldn’t have. But his hands were moving up to clench in the blond hair, tilt his head to force a better angle that had his mouth opening. 

Ardyn laughed, and Noct felt like the water of the shower had suddenly turned ice cold. He stepped back, as far as the chains would let them separate. “Very well done, boys. That’s an appropriate level of gratitude I shall expect to see in future.”

“Fuck you,” Prompto muttered again. 

“Well, thank you for the offer, but we wouldn’t want to make his highness jealous, Hm?” The chains released from the wall, but not from each other. “Shall we?”

Prompto wouldn’t look at him when they got back to their cells. Noct tried to ignore the boner that refused to go away for far too long afterward. 

Ardyn was fucked up. He wanted to go home. 


End file.
